


fever dream high

by kaermorons



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Witchers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jaskier Does Kaer Morhen, Lycanthropy-adjacent magic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Possessive Behavior, lots of porn, magical animal transformation, see chapter notes on (E) chapters for more specific tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Jaskier (19, never learned how to heat) follows Geralt up the mountain to Kaer Morhen after their first summer on the Path together. He's badly injured and ends up having to spend the winter in a castle with four alpha Witchers with...a little more animal instinct than he's used to.LEFT INCOMPLETE 12DEC2020.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir
Comments: 303
Kudos: 834





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fucking fandom made me get into omegaverse, god damn it. Also this is my first A/B/O fic be nice lol
> 
> Title from Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift because I have 0 imagination and my ass is owned by her
> 
> This fits eventually to hit FOUR bingo squares for me: Search and Rescue, Possessive Behavior, Huddling For Warmth, and Magical Animal Transformation

It’s a bad idea.

Jaskier knows it’s a bad idea. He’s unsure if that is supposed to stop him. He’s been following Geralt through the dense forest for just over four hours, and he realizes a lot more things, other than the aforementioned really,  _ really _ bad idea.

First, he should have been caught by now. Geralt can track a falcon on a cloudy day, and Jaskier is quite possibly the loudest thing in the forest, but the mixture of the sound-deafening snow and the falling, freezing rain has pretty much entirely covered him.

But that doesn’t take his omega scent into account. Geralt had always said that it was  _ distracting _ to have him come along on hunts, that he expressed too much through his scent. Jaskier learned that if he was stubborn enough, Geralt would eventually stop griping. But the alpha up ahead on the trail doesn’t look back once, even when there’s a very straight piece of trail that Jaskier can’t hide on. He should absolutely know Jaskier is there. Perhaps he’s purposefully leading him up the mountain, seeing how determined the young bard is?

That brings him to his second realization: Geralt had really been slowing his regular pace on the Path with Jaskier. His walking pace now is something of a light jog for Jaskier, proving difficult after the first hour of almost uphill hiking. The thought that Geralt was accommodating him, even through his constant complaints about the bard on the road, warmed Jaskier to his toes, a primal urge of  _ must please my alpha _ that he couldn’t quite be mad at, not when it’s Geralt.

The third is that he’s going to die on this trail. The thick banks of snow stand up to the icy rain, certainly better than his cloak and jacket do. He’s shivering the entire walk, and can hardly feel his hands and feet after awhile. There’s a desperate want to call out to Geralt, use at least a little bit of his omega abilities to call on the alpha for help. His pride stays his tongue, though. Hence why he’s going to die on the trail.

He stops when Geralt does, maybe a quarter-mile behind him on the trail, and rests, his muscles shaking with the strain. He’s been going for hours now, they couldn’t be more than a few miles from the keep now, could they?

He’s wrong.

They hike well into the evening, and Geralt doesn’t stop when the sun starts to slip out of the sky. Night falls fast in the mountains, especially in wintertime, and soon Jaskier can’t even see his hand in front of his face.

_ Okay, camp. Need to find shelter. Make a fire. But then Geralt will see me, and he’ll yell me back down the trail. No fire. Can’t find shelter if I can’t see. Can’t make camp without shelter. _

The panic sets in once the sky turns inky black, heavy clouds covering the full moon. He whines a little in the back of his throat and knows he probably reeks with fear right now. That fear only sharpens as he stumbles into a rather smooth tree, not realizing it as such for a few embarrassingly long seconds. He catches his breath and tries to feel out the trail by his feet.

He’s mostly unsuccessful, and almost teeters over the edge of a cliff several times, but he’s still somehow alive by the time he reaches the clearing. The rain had turned to snow just before night had fallen, and snow in the clearing rested in a fairly even layer across it, bright enough that he could see it from the little bits of moonlight peeking behind the clouds.

The snow is quite clearly untouched, meaning Geralt and Roach had not passed through this way. In fact, he can’t see any footprints, anywhere, and could no longer track Geralt’s smell through the freezing air. He whines again and looks around helplessly. His throat is choked by fear the moment he tries to call Geralt’s name. He’s lost, terribly lost, and—

There’s a snap of a branch to his left.

Heartrate ratcheting up, Jaskier makes a run for it, not wanting to stick around and see what nasty beasties the woods have in store for him. A cloud moves heavily over the moon once more, plunging him into frozen darkness. He hears movement behind him, something incredibly large and heavy hurtling through the pitch-black forest. He whimpers in fear once more, arms pumping. But he’s too tired from hiking the whole way up the mountain. He has no energy left in him, and the moment his foot finds a tree root, he is flung hard into the ground. A sick popping noise comes from the area of his feet, and the nauseating pain makes him cry out instantly, hoarse and helpless.

He can’t stop moving now, though. Any weight he tries to put on his foot sends lancing pain up his body, thrumming with adrenaline now. The high keening noise he makes is pitiful even to his own ears. In his mad scramble, he’s unaware of his surroundings, the night closing in on him, ready to feast on his pain, on him. His face crashes right into a rock, dazing him and rattling his teeth. Gods, how much more would he have to endure before death took him?

He makes it to another sparse clearing in the woods, now deeper than he’d ever been alone. The crashing noise from behind him grows louder, and as the moon peeks from behind the clouds, he sees them.

Four unnaturally-large wolves enter the clearing from the shadows, their glowing amber eyes giving an otherworldly appearance. They aren’t growling, aren’t circling. They must know he’s easy prey.

That certainty of death he’d dramatically mused about before seems a little cruel to remember right now, but his mind reminds him anyway. Jaskier cries out again when his foot bumps over another lump in the ground. He twists, hands going to his leg to try and stabilize it, prevent more pain. He sobs when the pain doesn’t abate, and again when the wolves walk forward.

He knew they were much larger than normal when he’d first seen them. He’s seen Geralt cut down wolves on the path, but these are at least twice the size, hulking, and downright monstrous. He screams and scrambles again, nearly passing out at the pain in his leg when he does. The wolves come forward again, one of them whining to the others, its fur completely white, and one slashing scar down the left side of its head. It seems to be speaking to a gray-and-brown wolf at its right. The remaining two, one black and the other a warm brown, both terribly scarred, listen as well, almost ignoring Jaskier’s vulnerable state.

He’s distantly aware that he’s hyperventilating, and going into shock. The icy ground doesn’t seem that bad anymore. He can feel his own blood dripping down his face, some of it getting in his eye. His eyes flicker between them all.

Finally, the gray-and-brown wolf honest-to-gods  _ nods _ at the white wolf, and  _ isn’t that just great. A white wolf coming to take his life. _ Jaskier tenses as the wolf comes near, shaking with exhaustion and cold.

Over the next few minutes, the wolf somehow manages to get Jaskier up on his feet -  _ foot. _ He’s leaning heavily on the wolf, but they don’t seem to mind. The scarred brown wolf comes up on his other side, not to sniff at him or bite, but to...steady him? The whole situation feels like a dream, and Jaskier can’t keep his head on straight for long enough to really analyze that  _ something really weird is happening, here. _

The gray-and-brown wolf sits on it’s - good gods,  _ his _ \- haunches and looks at him curiously, intelligently. The wolf nods to Jaskier’s left, where the white wolf is patiently sitting. He gives a yip, which makes him jump. “What?” Jaskier pleads. The wolf very slowly looks at him...and then points his nose at the white wolf, in an arcing motion. “On?”

Two yips.

The black wolf yawns and pees on a tree.

Jaskier very slowly swings his injured leg over the back of the white wolf’s body, hands fisted in soft, thick fur. The wolf radiates heat, and doesn’t even growl or try to shake him.  _ This is so fucking strange. If I survive this, it will make for a wonderful story. _

When the wolf starts walking, Jaskier almost falls off, yelping and gripping at its fur a little harder, his left leg hanging limply to the side. He can’t bear to look up from where his face is pressed into the fur at the back of its neck, doubly so when the white wolf begins to run through the forest. He whimpers and just holds on, hoping he won’t be eaten alive, that they’ll kill him before he becomes dinner. The other wolves follow behind.

Time is a blur for some minutes then, but it’s not too long that he’s not aware of the wolves starting to walk on a rather flat path. Jaskier peeks an eye out and sees, cast in moonlight, where he was trying to get the whole time:

Kaer Morhen.

His awe continues as they walk through the gates, at ease and familiar. Gods, did Geralt get eaten by wolves?  _ There’s supposed to be Witchers here. _ As they pass through a large set of oak doors, Jaskier hopes that the warm glow of a fire won’t illuminate the corpse of his best friend, on the ground.

He sees no such thing, and doesn’t even smell the evidence of a fight, here. He’s still dazed by the pain, having numbed into a haze on the ride there. The white wolf pads over to a hearth with several other animals’ furs piled up before it, pillows scattered in a makeshift nest. Jaskier is rolled gently onto it, but isn’t alone for long. His injured foot is lifted up in a gentle mouth onto the brown wolf’s back, the black wolf curling up on one side, and the grey-and-brown wolf on the other. The white wolf lays at his back, one massive paw coming to rest on his chest in a display of comfort and security.

It somehow works. He can recognize the smell of several very powerful alphas, similar to Geralt’s scent, all around him, in the furs and in the wolves. His mind can’t put the pieces together, but it tries. The white wolf seems to sense this, and gives a little huff in his ear, followed by a single lick against his neck.  _ Calm, omega. _

He doesn’t so much as hear the command as feel it, deep and rumbling down to his bones. His eyes slip shut, and he falls asleep, dreaming of flying through the snow atop a great, majestic white wolf.

In the morning, he wakes on still-warm furs, a blanket over his body, his leg elevated on a few pillows.

And surrounding him are four very angry, very naked, and  _ very _ alpha Witchers.


	2. Chapter 2

The Witchers seem to be more interested in  _ him _ than in putting clothes on. Jaskier (rather selfishly) doesn’t mind. “Erm, good morning,” Jaskier says politely.

Geralt -  _ oh good, Geralt’s alive _ \- rolls his eyes. “Jaskier, why are you here?” Jaskier is about to open his mouth to reply, when another Witcher speaks.

“So you  _ do _ know him!” The one who interrupts him is tall, with black, slightly shaggy and incredibly soft-looking hair. He has what seems to be a perpetual smirk on his face, a playful contrast to the badly-healed scars across his face. He’s rather well-endowed, even for an alpha, and Jaskier has a hard time concentrating, becuase there’s four alpha dicks in his face and he’s pretty sure his foot is broken.

“Of course he knows him, not just any unmated omega would follow Geralt up a fucking mountain at the start of a winter storm.” The Witcher that speaks has his arms crossed over his incredibly broad chest. His own face, breathtakingly handsome beneath shaggy brown hair and sporting some incredibly deep facial scars of his own, seems to be looking Jaskier over curiously, despite the disapproval in his tone. He, too, is fucking _ hung. _ Jaskier hopes they don’t know what the whole situation is doing to him. Maybe he’d get a chance before they rolled him down the— 

“And you didn’t  _ know _ he was following you for twenty miles?” the oldest-looking of the group says, slightly disapproving as he looks at Geralt. Even in his advanced age, he still has the same thick muscles as the other alphas, and could probably keep up in any fight or run against the others. The light dusting of hair across his chest and belly ends in a veritable forest of— _ looking up, okay. _

“He’s been traveling with me all summer. This is Jaskier, the bard I told you about before we left last night.” Geralt gestures in a rather rude introduction. While they had been traveling constantly together in the warmer months, Jaskier had quite shyly turned his eyes away when they were bathing or bedding down for an evening. Being able to look his fill proves to be an act of restraint. Plainly put, Geralt is delicious, from head to toe. “I must not have caught his scent on the trail up, too used to it over the last couple of months.”

“While I can forgive you that, that still doesn’t solve the mystery of why he,” the oldest squats and looks pointedly at Jaskier, “is here, now.”

“I just—” Jaskier cuts himself off. Why  _ did _ he follow Geralt up the mountain? He doesn’t know what compels him to babble out the truth, but it probably has something to do with the naked alpha dominance surrounding him. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.” He’s genuinely guilty for that, at least. “I just - I wasn’t ready for the adventure to be over, is all. I’m sorry.”

The Witchers all exchange looks with one another, frowning. The brown-haired Witcher turns, going to a pile of unfolded clothes near the nest. The Witchers dress quietly and quickly, and Jaskier tries to move to follow, too fast and too soon.

His whimper and hiss of pain send the Witchers into a frenzy, Geralt falling to his knees beside him and immobilizing his leg, the black-haired Witcher at his shoulder, and the older Witcher running out of the room, trousers half-laced. None of them seem to be bothered by the cold. “Fuck, forgot he’s hurt,” the black-haired Witcher says, holding Jaskier still and steady, thumbs massaging into his shoulders soothingly. The scent coming off his wrists does more than the motion for Jaskier. He’s growing more frantic by their panic, a feedback loop from hell. Things were going so nicely for him, dicks in his face, reclining on some furs...

“Eskel, get that knife, cut off his boot,” Geralt says, the order behind his voice sending Jaskier’s vision swimming. Jaskier makes a rather indignant squawk in protest. “Be still, Jaskier.” He has no choice but to melt into the command, flopping back against the Witcher behind him.

The brown-haired Witcher -  _ Eskel? _ \- returns with a knife, making quick ribbons of Jaskier’s boot, which had, admittedly, seen better days before he’d started walking the Path with Geralt. It looks like his foot is trying its best to  _ leave the rest of his leg, _ but the relief of the pressure on it makes Jaskier whine and writhe, the pain pulsing up his body and seizing his reason. Geralt’s iron grip on him does not falter, even as Jaskier cries out at the gentle touches Eskel probes into his foot.

“Ankle. Probably dislocated it when he tripped.”  _ What? How does he know he tripped? _ “The cold probably helped with the worst of the swelling, but a warm night before a fire probably undid all that.” Jaskier can hardly process the talking above him, as he’s being pinned down by three very, very strong Witchers.

“I’ve got the kit,” the older alpha’s voice booms through the room, and the weak moan Jaskier lets out sounds nothing but pitiful. He just wants the pain to go away. The man kneels beside Geralt, handing over the supplies he’d gathered. Then, those piercing pale-gold eyes lock on to him, and demand his attention. “This will hurt, omega. Lambert, hold him.” Jaskier’s fear spikes hard, until a warm, calloused hand wraps around his own. “Squeeze hard as you like. Won’t hurt me.”

“Y-yes, alpha,” Jaskier hyperventilates. He doesn’t look away from the man, even as a firm grip on his foot moves it sharply up and in, that same  _ pop _ from earlier resounding through his every nerve. He screams, finally closing his eyes and letting tears spill from his eyes. He’s shaking all over, soothed only by the firm holds they have on him. 

“Fuck,” the alpha above him whispers, increasing the soothing pets to Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier whines and leans into his right wrist, turning away from the pain, moving towards that alpha smell even harder. “Uh, Vese—”

“I’ve got him.” He can hardly feel his foot being wrapped as the alphas at his shoulders switch spots. His head is lifted onto a (clothed) lap, and there’s suddenly hands in his hair, scratching at his scalp slowly, and a wrist pressed in front of his mouth. His hands come up, gripping him at the forearm for dear life, like he can’t breathe unless it’s with that alpha smell. He can’t move his foot or ankle, with how tight the wrapping is applied. “There you go, just relax, omega.” He speaks so damned formally, calling him  _ omega _ instead of by his name, but Jaskier can’t have cared less. His foot is splinted and then rested atop the pillows. Jaskier dozes lightly, exhausted from the pain and effort of staying still.

“He can’t go back down the mountain like this. The storm has blocked the passes,” Eskel murmurs gently, absentmindedly petting Jaskier’s uninjured leg. “You have quite the story you owe us, Geralt.”

He hears Geralt give a grunt of agreement before speaking. “There are always spare rooms at Kaer Morhen. With locks,” he says. There’s a lot of meaning to that last part, that Jaskier can’t quite parse out. He just whines and keeps breathing in the alpha’s scent. “He can’t sleep down here. He’ll just hurt himself eventually.”

“We can’t make him walk up the stairs like this, either, genius.” The black-haired Witcher at his left is stroking a hand down his side in slow, steady passes, grounding him in good sensations rather than pain. “We can always Axii him—”

“No,” comes three voices at once. Jaskier whines at the disapproving note in the alphas’ scents, but stays slightly drifting in warm arms.

“Fine, sheesh.”

“Eskel,” the older alpha says above him. “Ready the room nearest Geralt’s, just enough for him to sleep.” One Witcher gets up and leaves. “Lambert, prepare some food, he likely hasn’t eaten since yesterday.” Another Witcher leaves. “Geralt, you’ll need to carry him, scent him down hard and—”

“What? I’ve never—”

“Don’t interrupt me. Yours is the scent he’s most familiar with, he’ll crash harder that way, so he doesn’t hurt himself at least for a few hours while we...talk.” Jaskier whines when the nice-smelling wrist leaves his grasp, but he’s too weak to cling. He’s moved bonelessly into another lap. The scent is familiar, though.

“G’rlt…?” Jaskier moans softly.

“Yes, it’s me,” Geralt sighs above him. “I need to dull your senses ‘til you’re in a bed. I...I need to scent you, Jaskier.” He sounds like being in this situation is almost painful, saddening for him. Jaskier hates it.

“Alpha,” Jaskier whispers weakly, nodding. Scenting is usually kept between family members, possibly between lovers, but is definitely taboo the shorter amount of time two people have known one another. Almost three seasons on the road together still doesn’t prepare Jaskier for the wave of sensation when Geralt brings his wrist to Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier’s wrist to his neck.

His surprised gasp stutters to a halt in his throat, eyes flying open for a few seconds before fluttering closed. He’s heard of alphas with this ability, scent-flooding. He’d never had it done to him, he’d always been skittish around the nobles in court. He feels almost drunk, floating with Geralt’s arms as his only tether. Everything around him disappears until it’s just the two of them. Jaskier gives a weak moan, overwhelmed by the feeling. “Geralt?” he whimpers again.

“I’m here, don’t let go. Gonna take you to a bed.” Jaskier is distantly aware that they’re moving, walking upstairs and around hallways. “You can sleep if you want.” Jaskier lets his fingers twine into Geralt’s long white hair, holding their pulses against one another.

“Feel funny,” Jaskier pouts. Geralt chuckles and gently sets Jaskier down on a soft surface, immediately propping up his hurt foot. He doesn’t even feel it.

“I bet. Never been heavy-scented by a Witcher before, have you?” Geralt rubs his thumb over Jaskier’s neck before gently pulling back, separating Jaskier’s fingers from his hair.

“N’r been wiff an alpha.” Jaskier doesn’t see the concerned frown on Geralt’s face, wriggling happily in the floaty sensation. “I think I slee.”

“Okay, Jaskier, go slee. Someone will be here when you wake.”

His dreams are just as floaty, like he’s flying again, on the back of a large white wolf.

When he wakes, there’s a dull throb in his ankle, and an unfocused, shimmery quality to everything around him. He’s in a very large four-poster bed, under a few furs and blankets, and more comfortable than he feels he probably deserves. He makes a confused noise, and someone to his right speaks.

“You’re at Kaer Morhen, omega. You dislocated your ankle running from us through the woods. Got a pretty nasty gash to the brow, as well. You must be hungry. I’m Vesemir.”

“Hello Vesemir, I’m hungry,” Jaskier grumbles, trying to sit up and failing. He squeaks when two large hands pick him up by his torso and prop him up against the headboard, foot still elevated. “You can stop calling me omega, by the way, Jaskier is fine.”

“Well, hungry, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. Here you go. Think you can feed yourself?”

“I’m injured, not an infant.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and accepts the tray of food he’s given - some nice warm bread, a thick stew made with venison, onions, potatoes, and carrots, and some nice salted butter on the side. He frowns at it in confusion.

“Were you expecting a prisoner’s fare, hungry?” Vesemir says amusedly. He’s wearing clothes, now, and his gray hair is pulled back from his face.

“Nothing so fine as this, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier admits. He’s been caught in enough lies with Geralt that summer that he knows he can’t bear false statements to any cat-eyed Witcher.

“It’s  _ Vesemir. _ And I won’t tell Lambert you said that, he’d never shut up about it.”

Jaskier eats all he can before sitting back and sipping at a large mug of tea, full of herbs Vesemir insists will help him heal faster, since they don’t stock many human-safe medicines at the keep. The alpha’s care for him is clear, and untwists the knot in his stomach just a little more. “I have so many questions,” Jaskier says softly, trying not to let his face show how much pain he’s in.

“When you’re a little better-healed, we’ll answer any questions you have, Jaskier. You need rest, for now.”

“Don’t think I can,” Jaskier admits, face burning with shame as he stares at his useless, bound foot. Vesemir makes a soft noise, and rises.

“I can help with that, if you’re amenable.” Vesemir sits at his bedside, warmth radiating off of him. “You barely lasted ten minutes after Geralt scented you. There’s no shame in who you smell like, at Kaer Morhen.” He says this sure and slow, and unnervingly as if he’s reading Jaskier’s very mind. “May I scent you, omega?” The formality of the question seems more appropriate here, and Jaskier gulps a little, gnawing on his lip and looking at their wrists, so close.

“Yes, alpha.” Vesemir moves slowly, leaning over Jaskier’s form to get him comfortable for sleep. Jaskier feels breathless under his attention, a little hot under his chemise, and all the covers. Vesemir picks up Jaskier’s hand, and touches wrists to necks simultaneously.

It’s...different. It’s not the same flooding feeling as before, but more of a drowning, like he’s sinking into an ocean of Vesemir’s pulse and scent. He makes a soft, happy noise and wriggles into the depths of Vesemir’s scenting, giving himself over easily, happily. His dreams are smoky, hazy and humid like a fire on a beach in the summertime, nothing like the winter that lay just outside. There’s beautiful white-golden topaz eyes watching over him, silent like a sun or a moon.

He wakes again like he’s surfacing from a satisfying swim. It’s midday, now. He must have only slept a few hours. He looks around, and nearly jumps when he registers the still figure of the brown-haired Witcher in the spot Vesemir had been. “Um, hello,” Jaskier says sheepishly. Under that heavy amber gaze, he feels quite small, like a small child caught doing something unseemly, a very common occurrence in Jaskier’s childhood. “Eskel?” he says curiously.

The Witcher smiles, his scars pulling at the corner of his mouth, not unattractively. Jaskier had always been drawn to scars, tracing and kissing and worshiping them in all his lovers. To freely gaze upon the well-won scars of a Witcher now seems thrilling. “I’m surprised you remembered. You were pretty out of it.”

“Yes, well, I’m not as used to pain as you or Geralt would be.” Jaskier manages to scoot himself up on the bed by himself, keeping his foot elevated.

“Try not to exert yourself. Geralt said he’d have the head of any of us you got hurt under the care of.” Eskel crosses his arms, rolling his eyes in such a display of emotion that it stuns Jaskier. Alphas were typically quite reluctant to show their true feelings to any omega, even their mates, but Eskel seemed...at ease, like he didn’t look at Jaskier and just see  _ omega. _

It’s...nice.

“You’ll probably be up in here for awhile. I brought you some books. I can’t promise they’re interesting, but…” Eskel waves to a pile of books on the table beside the bed.

“Thank you, Eskel,” Jaskier pulls one over, noting there’s no dust on it, no signs of disuse. These are well-read, well-used, and smell like… “These are yours?”

Eskel flicks his eyes away, rubbing at his scars, suddenly self-conscious. “I tend to stay here longer than the others. Gotta find something to do. I’ve read the whole library, and these are probably the books that won’t send you to sleep in seconds.” Jaskier grins at him, pleased both by his admission at being well-read and his ability to string together more than four words at once. It’s a stark contrast to Geralt’s monotonous grunts and two-syllable answers. “Could always get those for you, too.”

“The way you’ve been putting me to sleep is fine,” Jaskier blurts out, before slapping a hand over his mouth. “I mean. If you’re amenable. I don’t wish to presume that—” Eskel raises a hand to stop him.

“You can stop with your court vocabulary, Jaskier. Scenting is just biological. It doesn’t have to mean deep fealty and marital claim. If you’re comfortable, any of us would do that for you, if it meant alleviating some of your pain.”

Jaskier is left rather breathless, clutching the book tightly. “Y-you said. Or. Someone said something about axing me?” This pulls a sharp bark of laughter out of the man.

“Axii. It’s a Sign we use. Geralt never showed you the Signs?”

“I think I’ve seen him use...I think he called it Aard?” Eskel nods approvingly. “And he mentioned...Igni.”

“Good!” Eskel says, grinning at him once more. He speaks animatedly to Jaskier for some hours, about magic and how Witchers use it in combat. Jaskier’s insides feel pulverised and set to boil, absolutely molten from the alpha praise and happiness. “Aard,” Eskel holds up a hand briefly in the shape of the Sign, and Jaskier feels a soft breeze over his face. “You can push, repel. Give yourself some space in battle, let you take a breath. Then there’s Igni.” He changes the shape of his hand, aiming it at the hearth. There’s a rush of heat, and the logs catch flame, strong and beautiful.

“Fire! Why couldn’t Geralt have started all those fires, he always made me do it instead.” Jaskier pouts and Eskel laughs again, bright and clear.  _ Fuck, Jaskier, get a grip. Do NOT fall for the beautiful Witcher. Again. _

“He was probably trying to teach you some survival skills. But the others are Quen, it throws up a magical shield from attacks, Yrden, which traps mostly wraiths and spectral figures, and Axii, which you overheard earlier from Lambert. It’s...well it’s more of an intense power of suggestion, rather than what you’d probably call mind-control.”

_ “Mind-control?!” _ Jaskier gasps.

“It’s not that. Mostly, it doesn’t work on stubborn folk, the more logic-minded. They can see right through the illusion.” Jaskier nods. “We didn’t want to make your situation worse, you see. You were...alphas don’t like seeing omegas in pain, especially not that much pain.” Eskel frowns down at his hands. His face cast in flickering firelight, it left him quite shadowed on his scarred side. “We are all worried for your health. You’re probably going to be trapped up here all winter. We can try to work something out if you don’t want—”

“A keep full of Witchers old as time, with incredible stories to tell? You’d have to toss me down the mountain.”

Eskel looks...fond. “I’ll keep that in mind. There are...some things you should know, though. I hope Lambert doesn’t fuckin’ open his big mouth, but…” He trails off, frowning at Jaskier’s leg.

“You’re not going to scare me off. Geralt certainly hasn’t.” The look Eskel gives him is more serious and concerned than before, throwing him off.

“You should sleep. You’ll want to be well rested when we speak next.” Eskel rises from his seat. “May I help you sleep?”

Jaskier wiggles back down the bed, trying to hide his anxiety over the ominous promise. “Please.” They lock up for scenting, and that same rushing pulse settles over him. He feels like he’s flying again, pulled along a strong current on a winding river. The warm glow around him protects him from any harm while he flies, while he rushes. He sighs happily as the rushing turns to sleepy exhaustion, and he sleeps, dreaming of amber magic, dancing from his fingertips.

He’s groggy and uncomfortable when he wakes next. It’s much darker now, though the sun hasn’t entirely set. The fire in the hearth is blazing and strong now, and there’s someone walking across the room to shut the curtains. He doesn’t look like any of the others Jaskier has seen, so he tries, “Lambert?” His voice is much rougher than he’d expected. His head is throbbing in time with his ankle, and he can’t help but wriggling to change his position on the bed, feeling like he’s been sleeping in a grave.

“That’s me, kid.” The Witcher sighs and takes a seat. “I’ve got dinner if you’re up for it. We won’t be ‘round to help you much til morning, there’s still some shit to deal with. I’ve got final watch, though, just until things get wolfy ‘round here.” He laughs at his own joke, but Jaskier isn’t sure what he means.

“Thank you for bringing me dinner,” he says instead. Lambert gives a rather amused look.

“Course, can’t have our resident omega starving now, especially since he likes my  _ fine _ cooking.” He wiggles his eyebrows a little.

“Vesemir said he wasn’t going to say anything to you. I see why.”

Lambert laughs. “Sharp one, aren’t you? You’ll learn there’s no secrets or whispered words in Kaer Morhen that the rest of us Witchers can’t hear.” Jaskier blinks, astonished.

“You could hear me?”

“All the way from the great hall, where we were deciding what to do with you by committee.”

“Committee?!” Jaskier squawks.

“Well, by pack. More appropriate term, I s’pose.” Lambert drinks from a mug, most likely ale by his satisfied sigh. “Yeah, what with your heat coming on, we can’t exactly be around in the nights, rutting as we’ll be.”

“My  _ what?” _ Jaskier breathes. Lambert seems to take no mind.

“Yeah, you don’t know?” Lambert’s eyes catch on his, and his laid-back expression fades away. “You  _ don’t _ know.”

“I’d think I’d know when my own d-d-d-damned heat is coming!” Jaskier glares. “I’m not a winter heat omega.”

“You smell. Like heat. Trust me, Witchers would know. Why do you think the others are so fuckin’  _ tiptoe _ around you? The scenting must not have helped. That much shock from an injury, and scent-flooding from three alphas in a day? You’re in heat, kid.”

The logic of his rather crude ranting fits into very snug spots in his mind, with dawning horror. Oh gods, he doesn’t even have suppressants, the Count and Countess will want him home, oh gods, the alphas, oh gods…

“Hey, calm down, you’re gonna be—”

“I will  _ not _ be fine!” Jaskier declares, slamming his hands on the bed. “I’ve—” he mutters into his hands, too muffled for even a Witcher to parse.

“One more time, for me, kid.” Lambert says and pulls his hands away.

“I’ve never had a heat. I’ve been. I’ve been suppressing them since I was thirteen,” Jaskier whispers, shame and horror in his scent, in the flush of his skin, in the shake of his voice.

“Uh.” Lambert stands, paces a little.  _ “Fuck.” _


	3. Chapter 3

“Alright, kid. You uh, eat your dinner and I’ll help you get to sleep, we don’t have much time but we’ll talk about this in the morning, alright. Don’t you worry about it til then.”

“Why can’t we talk about it now?” Jaskier whines petulantly.

“We four won’t be in the most...talkative moods.” Lambert’s giving him a rather curious look, and his head tilts to the side in a way that should seem familiar. “What  _ do _ you remember about last night?”

* * *

“He  _ what?” _ Geralt shouts, hearing Lambert’s retelling. “We can’t—oh gods, we can’t deal with this right now, the fucking. Oh fuck.” Geralt paces around the great hall, while Vesemir and Eskel stare at the table as if it would somehow provide answers if they interrogated it silently enough.

“No, he’s never had a  _ full _ heat. He’s been taking heat suppressants every season since he was thirteen, and the most he’s gotten is just a horny week with his hand. Oh, and did you miss the part where he doesn’t know that  _ we turn into actual fucking wolves on the full moon.” _

“I knew leaving him alone with you and your fat mouth would be trouble,” Eskel supplies unhelpfully. Geralt’s pacing grows louder, more tantrum-like stomps than anything. “Will you calm down? It’s not like we’ve never been heat partners before.”

“Yeah, with  _ other Witchers. _ Who would slap loose a couple teeth if we got too fresh. He’s a human, a fragile,  _ injured, _ scared-out-of-his-wits human, we’d probably destroy the kid.” Lambert looks out the window to the waning sunlight over the mountains. “We don’t have much more time to talk about this now. I locked his door and scented him down for like thirty straight minutes, he should be asleep til morning.”

“You mentioned our scenting may have impacted his cycle,” Vesemir says.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it happen in whores before. They try and keep a flooder alpha on hand, heat-fucks tend to cost more,” Lambert answers flippantly.

“Can you stop being so aloof about this, Lambert? He’s—he’s just a kid, fuck, he turned nineteen right before I took the trail up.” Geralt groans and goes to smack his head repeatedly into a nearby column. It’s not a load-bearing column, which is fortunate.

“We tell him about the curse tomorrow. We all have enough self-control to stay away while he’s in heat, while we’re in rut, but he should have the chance to make an informed decision based on the facts.” Vesemir gets three nods. “That gives us...two days to make preparations for both our ruts and his heat. We might have time to cook up some healing salve for his ankle. It’d be a fucking shame to undo all that work with a reckless week of fucking.”

Lambert corrects him. “Weeks. There’s  _ three _ ruts to get through, old man. Think his heats will line up that way again?”

Geralt looks paler than usual. The thought that he may have done this to his sweet, innocent bard chills him. Lambert claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll get over it. C’mon, let’s go hunt.”

* * *

The next morning, Jaskier is groggy and confused once more. His leg aches something fierce, and the remnant’s of Lambert’s heavy scenting leaves him a little jittery, but still too tired to move. There’s no one in his room with him, thankfully, leaving him to gather his thoughts just a little.

He shivers a little, trying to think back on what he’d discovered last night. He can only mostly remember Lambert’s scenting, the alpha’s slightly spicy scent pouring into him like a great deluge, a heavy thunderstorm, wrapped in structured, blinding lightning, leaving him electric in his dreams. But before that...that’s what he needs to remember.

_ Your heat is coming. _

“Oh  _ fuck.” _ Jaskier sits up too fast again, jarring his leg off the pillows again. He hisses and bites back tears as he tries to gently rearrange himself as painlessly as possible. He whines when his foot slides to the side, twitching in its bandages. They need to be changed soon, they’d loosened in the night. “Fuck.” A few tears escape his eyes, feeling helpless and alone.

Suddenly, four alphas are barging into his room, breaking the lock on the door and demanding to know what’s wrong. Eskel’s eyes catch on Jaskier’s death grip on his calf and moves first to a small basket on the table. Geralt gets onto the bed with him, a little wild-eyed and frantic. Lambert is up at his side, helping move him more comfortably. Vesemir still looks worried, but rolls his eyes at the others’ antics.

“I just. I tried to move. You. I remembered. My heat is.” Jaskier can’t hold it in anymore, bursting into tears and covering his face shamefully. Geralt makes a soft noise and slides up next to him, pulling him closer as much as he can without jarring his foot. Eskel sits on the bed and gently unwraps the bandages, hissing sympathetically when he reveals the deep bruising on his ankle and foot.

“Numbing cream should help a little. Stay off this for a while ‘til we can splint you.” Eskel’s hands gently rub a salve into his skin, featherlight at first, before the tingling numbness sets in, and Jaskier can see him working a little firmer. “Wrap you up.”

“Your heat will begin in two days. Lots to discuss before then.” Vesemir sits on the edge of the bed. “Once you’re stable we’ll clean you and take you down to the hall, better we talk there.” Vesemir and Eskel’s regular verbosity has apparently taken a day off.

“Um. Okay.” Jaskier leans into Geralt’s side, craving his warm, familiar comfort. Geralt’s nose comes up the side of his shoulder to poke into his neck, breathing deeply. “Uh?”

“Geralt. Back off,” Vesemir orders. Geralt goes with a whine. What is  _ up _ with them this morning?

They get him into a change of clothes after rather efficiently cleaning him up with a damp cloth. Geralt carries him, bridal-style, down to the hall, looking rather smug about the whole thing. Jaskier is in a lighter form of shock about it, though not as grave as he’d been previously. He’s set down in a comfy chair, his foot elevated on a stool. Eskel lights the hearth and Geralt brings him a blanket.

After a few minutes of  _ nobody fucking speaking,  _ Lambert comes to him with a bowl of porridge, an apple, and a steaming mug of tea, looking rather expectantly at Jaskier. “I, oh, um. Thank you.” Jaskier says, taking it with a smile. Lambert looks immensely pleased at his acceptance, flushing up around his cheeks and ears before puttering away. Vesemir is looking rather amused with himself.  _ What is going on? _ Jaskier mouths at him.

“Well, we should start from the very beginning, very good place to start for stories like this.”  _ Oh good, he’s speaking normally again. _ “Witchers are created through a series of physical, alchemical, and magical changes. We trained young boys to fight, be strong and agile. We gave them potions to change their bodies to do more, move faster, sense further. Magically, I’m sure Eskel’s shown you Signs, and you’ve seen some of them in action with Geralt.” He nods, and the two Witchers share the same smug smiles.  _ What. _ “You can obviously tell four Witchers isn’t enough to fill a castle of this size.”

“I...Geralt’s mentioned a siege.” Their faces all droop a little. A painful memory, then.

“Yes, a siege. There were, many of us, on the Path at the time, but almost all of us here died, including the mages that helped with the Changes and the Trials.” His sudden subject change is swift and toneless. The devastation is not his point to this story. “It turns out, however, that the mages were working on a rather complicated spell, and when the siege happened, they could no longer contain it. Its power bled into the very walls of Kaer Morhen, into every stone and rock we’ve lived in for hundreds of years. And do you know what happens when spells go wrong?”

“They usually become a curse.”

“Yes, smart boy.” Vesemir nods again, collecting his thoughts. “The mages, from what we could gather, were trying to change the Trials, give Witchers more characteristics shared with animals, so that nature would aid us better in battle. We are the School of the Wolf, so…”

“They wanted to make you more…wolfy?”

“In a sense,” Lambert scoffs.

“Hush, you’ve said enough,” Vesemir grumbles. “There is...one thing that started happening, to those that return for the winters.” This makes the hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up. “Do you remember much of your first night here?”

“You mean last night?” Jaskier says in a small voice.

“The night before. How you got here.” There’s a pause, and the great hall, vast as it is, is silent as a crypt, waiting for Jaskier’s answer.

“There were...wolves. Real wolves. They...They found me, brought me here.”

“And what did they look like?”

“Yellow eyes. Like yours. One was...one was white, another black, a brown one, and a grayish one. They were enormous, and had scars, and they...they behaved unlike any wolf I’ve ever seen.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel says, leaning closer. Some of his hair flops into his eyes. “How do you think I know you tripped and injured yourself? Why haven’t you seen any of those wolves here, with the four of us around?”

It clicked.

It was as loud a revelation as the pop of his ankle had been. His jaw drops open. “You’re...were—”

“Not exactly, no, it’s different than—”

“It’s just in the wintertime, and only when we’re he—”

“Only happens with us, though, Coen didn’t really—”

“Lycanthropy is less of a true morph like we do—”

“Okay, stop.” Jaskier holds both hands up, the apple held aloft. All of their eyes flicker to it for a second before going back to him, quieted.

He looks them over. The scars, they matched. Hell, even what he could remember of their personalities matched what he remembers of that night. It’s...highly illogical, but not impossible. He’d seen the impossible just on that first summer walking with Geralt. “You...are wolves.”

“Sometimes.”

“In the winter.”

“Under the fullest moons.”

Jaskier nods, processing this. “And. Alright so, if the full moon was two nights ago, why couldn’t I see you all last night then?”

The other alphas look to Vesemir, who answers. “It comes in tides, like the ocean’s relationship to the moon. When night falls, our instincts, our urges, they’re more in line with that of a wolf’s. We can still control what we do, we are still in our own bodies, but fighting the instincts is a little hard in the nights leading up to and away from the full moon. There are some things you must know about our instincts and our behavior.”

“Alright, hit me.” Jaskier takes a bite of the apple, humming at the flavor. Vesemir continues.

“Four nights after the full moon, if we have shifted, we go into rut.” Jaskier chokes a bit. “We are...possessive. I suppose you’d call us feral, in a way. We are sterile, and therefore don’t have the same cycles as humans, but that biological urge is still there, deeper and more powerful than most human ruts go. This happens each moon of winter. Our shift two nights ago was the first of the season.”

“And you said my-my heat starts in two days?” Jaskier clutches the apple.

“Yes. We can smell it on you. Even if you did take a suppressant now, your body is near four seemingly-virile alphas. There’s no stopping it. Now, there are...measures we can take, if you wish to be alone, or—”

“No!” Jaskier blurts out, surprising Vesemir and the others.

“No?” Geralt asks, when he doesn’t continue.

“I...I’ve never...had one and I’m. Well, to put it plainly, I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone.” He looks at his hands, frowning. Geralt comes and covers them with his own.

“Jaskier, we wouldn’t abandon you. We were just offering a celibate heat. We’d be elsewhere in the castle most of the day, but we’d stop by to take care of you, feed you, scent you if you needed it. That’s what Vesemir means.” Jaskier calms, nearly melting at the reassurance.

“What are the other options I have?” Jaskier asks bravely.

“Well, you’d certainly want for very little, with four rutting alphas at your beck and call for a week.”

“First heat’s longer. I’m betting the kid’s gonna wring us dry given the chance,” Lambert retorts. Geralt’s about to scold him for being so crass, but Jaskier laughs.

“I...I trust you all. And if you’re able to fight whatever baser urges you have while you’re with me, I wouldn’t mind. That is...if you’re amenable, and all.” A pretty blush floods up above Jaskier’s cheeks, and he gazes at them from under his long lashes.

“We can fight them off, most of the time,” Eskel admits, giving a name to the tension around them. “We’ve only had ourselves to help each other through ruts in the past. Witchers are hardier than humans. No offense.”

“None taken, but what do you mean?”

“He means we’re probably gonna wanna mate-mark you. Multiple times. We aren’t too interested in social norms ‘round here, don’t give me that look, you’re mollycoddling him so much he’s gonna scream and run the first time he takes a knot.” Lambert’s candor is rather refreshing, to say the least. Jaskier certainly isn’t used to this kind of frankness in court. “If you don’t wanna, we can prepare a few things I’ve seen whores use—”

“Are sex workers your only frame of reference, Lambert?”

“Fuck off. There’s ways around everything these days, I’m trying to prepare him.”

“I’ll...can I consider it?” Jaskier’s quiet, bashful admission strikes hard, and the answering wave of alpha lust and interest is his answer. “I don’t...I’ve heard a lot of bad things about first heats, especially with alphas. It’s why I’ve. No that’s not the reason why I took suppressants, my mother and father said I could stay away from home until my first heat took me and—”

“You don’t want the adventure to end,” Geralt finishes. “Are you sure, Jaskier?”

“We can always work around it if you don’t want it. It might be uncomfortable.”

“Being bitten on the fucking neck while squirming on an alpha knot? Uncomfortable is kind of an understatement.” The other alphas mutter in agreement. “Not to mention our—”

“We won’t let that happen.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Not to mention what? Was there some part of biology I’m not privy to, or is it a—”

“It’s a Witcher thing,” all four answer.

“And we don’t need to tell him about it because  _ it’s not going to happen, Lambert.” _ Geralt reiterates through gritted teeth.

“Guarantee you’ll be changing your tu-une~…” Lambert sing-songs.

“We will draw up a list of everything that may happen, and I want you to look it over, alone, so you don’t feel pressured into saying yes to anything you’re not sure about,” Vesemir says with a sigh.

“Yes, alpha,” Jaskier breathes. They all look much too pleased by his slip.  _ Gods, I really am going into heat, aren’t I? _

“Well then. Finish your breakfast and we’ll get you back up to your room.”

* * *

Vesemir presents him with a very,  _ very _ long list of “possible events” after lunch. “Before you look it over, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Of course, please.” Jaskier gestures to the chair, but Vesemir sits on the bedside.

“I mentioned our instincts will be more animal, though our bodies will be as they are now. I would prefer if you had at least some exposure to it, in a non-sexual environment, to see if you’re comfortable with us before your heat begins.”

“What—would that entail, exactly?”

“We’d be clothed, for one. As would you. We like to lay together in the evenings, just to be close, be with pack. We sometimes go hunt, since our senses are sharper and our reflexes faster than a man’s mind normally allows for. But tonight, if you’re amenable, we would just join you here, for the evening, similar to how you were nested up by the fire the first night.”

“I think I’d like that.” Vesemir holds up his hand. He’s not finished.

“We are not going to be the same as you have seen us. Some of us hardly speak, and can be very intense at times if you’re not used to it. However, you just say the word and we’ll back off, even leave the room if you wish. This is all in your control, omega.”

Jaskier weighs his options. On one hand, another night in the arms of four powerful alphas who can scent away his pain, but he’d also have to be dealing with non-verbal, practically feral creatures demanding his attention.

“May I consider it?” Jaskier says again, holding onto the slip of parchment steadily.

“The true change comes when the sun slips away and the moon rises. We will be at your door by then, and will wait on your word. Lambert will bring you dinner, but we will leave you be the rest of the day, to consider.”

“Thank you, alpha.” Jaskier smiles at him as he walks back out the door. He opens the folded slip of paper.

> _ X for no, ? for discussion, ✓ for yes. _
> 
> _ Penetrative sex with Vesemir _ _   
>  _ _ Penetrative sex with Lambert _ _   
>  _ _ Penetrative sex with Eskel _ _   
>  _ _ Penetrative sex with Geralt _ _   
>  _ _ Oral sex (receiving) _ _   
>  _ _ Oral sex (giving) _ _   
>  _ _ Knotting with… _

“Fucking seven hells on the blessed tits of the gods,” Jaskier mutters, before picking up his pencil, ready to make lots and lots of little checkmarks.

* * *

Exactly seventy- _ four _ checkmarks later, no X’s, and one big fat question mark next to what had been hastily added in another hand, and then scribbled out, Jaskier is rather aroused and exhausted from trying to both eat dinner and not drool. The salve numbing his ankle has worn off, leaving him aching again. He wants to try walking, so used to the constant pace of being on the road with Geralt. He hardly realizes night has fallen until he half-hops over to the chair, using it as a sort of large cane, and goes to the door.

The moment he opens it, he’s met with three heavy-stared, slightly panting alphas. They had smelled his arousal even through the door, and the moment the door had opened, the scent had hit them harder, resulting in a low whine from Lambert. Vesemir cuffs him. “May we enter, omega?” he says.

“Oh, um. Yes. Please.” He’s cut off, squeaking, when Eskel and Geralt pick him up bodily and take him to the bed, laying him out gently and checking him over.

“Shouldn’t be out of bed,” Vesemir tuts, sitting down to gently unwrap his ankle. Lambert is already snuffling at him, face buried in his chest, breathing him in indulgently.

Eskel returns with more salve, and they take care of him. Geralt gives a sad, pained whine when he sees the bruises, and lays his head on Jaskier’s thigh, one hand coming to gently pet at his knee. Vesemir rubs the salve in, and wraps him up tight. “Let’s move you to the middle, hm?”

Eskel comes up behind him, settling him back between his legs so he can play with Jaskier’s hair. Geralt is plastered to his leg, forlornly looking at his injured foot, elevated on the pillows. Vesemir attaches himself to his other side with a sigh of contentedness, breathing in deeply at his shoulder. Lambert is…

Nosing at his crotch.

Jaskier squeaks a little, but isn’t sure what to do. Vesemir gives him a look, and Jaskier remembers their conversation from earlier.  _ This is all in your control, omega. _

He clears his throat a little before saying, “Lambert, you’re not allowed that yet,” in a very clear voice. Lambert immediately moves away, nosing back up his side to his armpit. It’s weird, but kind of sweet.

“Good job, omega,” Vesemir purrs in his ear, approving. Jaskier flushes a little and tries to relax. The wolves do this so they can just forget the world for a little bit, try and find comfort. Jaskier has seen what the world has said and done to them firsthand, if only from an outsider perspective. He should enjoy this too, get used to his heat partner’s bodies.

His mind settles into a smooth, warm place, surrounded by the strong alpha presence around him. All four of them groan simultaneously and press their noses into his skin.  _ Shit, I must be oozing happiness right now. _

Their grabbing hands and insistent noses turn to gentle pets and appreciative noises, almost a low  _ purring _ radiating from the four chests around him. It’s hard to stay asleep with all of them pressed against him like this, but the final thought he has is that whatever that scribbled-out line on the paper next to them, he wants to change it to a check.


	4. The Fuckery Begins (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks. Here's the deal. This is where this fic starts to get sexy. We're gonna be covering a lot of kinks fast and loose in some places, and I know some people just won't be into that. If you're fine with being involved in the full-on fuckfest this is gonna become, go right ahead to the chapter. I'm gonna include chapter warnings (which may or may not be spoilers) in the endnotes, SOMETIMES with CTRL-F jumps so you can skip over certain parts if need be. I'll be adding the general "see chapter notes for additional tags" tag to this fic for any newcomers.
> 
> Additionally, please note the rating change from M to E, it's gonna get fuck-heavy and plot-light from here on out. Thanks!

Jaskier wakes alone.

The bed is long-cold where the wolves had been the night before, but their scents are as ingrained in the sheets as they are in Jaskier’s waking memory. He gently sits up and notices his foot has been salved and rewrapped again, and that the checklist is gone from his side table. There’s a note in its place.

> _STAY. NO WALKING._

Jaskier rolls his eyes, and mutters, “Yes alpha,” rather sarcastically. He shifts up to make himself more comfortable, and sighs with his head back against the board. What wouldn’t he give for a bath right now?

Especially seeing as his heat probably won’t allow for such things as _bathing._

His mind drifts a little, cycling through the list of things he’d said yes to. _Oral knotting. Multiple orgasms. Fingering. Fisting. Cockwarming (giving). Cockwarming (receiving). Possessive acts (including but not limited to verbal claims, roleplay, scenting/marking, claiming marks, etc…)_

He jolts a little at the feeling of his prick hardening in his sleeping pants. They don’t look like his own, and are much too big, but they’re soft, and they smell of alpha, and oh fuck he’s tenting them now.

With one wary glance at the door, Jaskier maneuvers his pants down his legs, sighing in satisfaction when his hand wraps around his length. He likes a good tease, but all this talk of heats, ruts, sexual acts, intimacy, _biological urges,_ has rather sent his mind into a lusty tailspin. He closes his eyes and lets his mind wander.

Would those same urges force him to kneel, beg to be mounted? When would he find his satisfaction? How much come would have to fill his hole for him to slake his body’s thirst for it? He stifles a moan and squeezes himself at the base. He knows he’s getting a little wet with slick right now, but doesn’t want to attempt anything more acrobatic than this.

He lets a hand push up his chemise, firm and confident as it moves up toward a nipple. He gasps, softly, and lets out a soft whine when he plays with the already-firm bud. His body is already more sensitive to touch than he normally is. He can’t smell it on him, but he knows his heat is approaching, fast.

His traitorous mind provides him with the image of Geralt’s hands, which he’d watched as surreptitiously as he could in their travels together. The rare moments where he’d been not wearing gloves are the subject of many of Jaskier’s fantasies.

For as many scraps as Geralt has gotten into, with bandits or beast or even, on one occasion he’s not to speak of, a low wall, his knuckles always heal back to an even, soft white. There’s a long scar on the back of his left hand, that breaks the perfect skin of his knuckles and bisects his middle and ring fingers, ending at his palm. He hadn’t believed the story Geralt had told, that a gryphon had turned his own sword back on him his first year out on the Path and embedded it in his hand, but after seeing a few more hunts up close, Jaskier had regarded that scar very affectionately. Witcher healing is a marvel. Geralt wears no rings, though his slender, elegant fingers seem to be made to pluck at a lap harp, designed by the gods to hold a partner’s hand in a dance, be adorned by silver and gold and jewels. The couple of times Geralt had touched him, Jaskier had almost shivered into speechlessness at the rasp of callouses against his own skin, the scrape of them against his clothes finer than an elven three-part harmony. And ye gods, his wrists, so slender but full of power. The first time he’d seen Geralt black-blooded by his potions, the veins in his wrists had held such a stark contrast to his pale skin, Jaskier had almost dumbly asked if Geralt had a tattoo.

The memory of Geralt, black-eyed and feral, covered in guts and monster blood, his beautiful hands clutching a stained silver sword in one and a harpy’s head in the other should not be what rips a wanton moan from Jaskier’s lips, but it is. His cock is oozing precome now, and the soft squelch of his slicked hole combined with the fleshy slide of his hand makes him blush deeply. He’d gotten quite used to his rushed, quiet morning wanks while on the road with Geralt.

But they’re not out in the wild now, he’s in Kaer Morhen, in a keep full of alpha witchers who want to fuck his heat-crazed brains out, who can all probably hear exactly what he’s doing, right now.

_No reason not to give them a show, is there?_

Jaskier wriggles a little, sliding down the bed and letting his legs fall open. His other hand leaves his poor, sensitive nipples be and dips down, past his balls to where he’s hottest and wettest. He’s done this a little before, while in university. Most, well... _all_ of his beta and omega partners were more interested in him fucking _them_ than the other way around, so it’d been him and his trusty hand for many horny years. He knows, no matter how distracting and _strong_ Geralt’s hands are, that his own are just as clever and talented. He can almost pretend the lutestring callouses on his own hands are those worn from holding a sword, from hard labor and countless nights in the wild. A Witcher’s hands.

He finds his hole easily, the first push against his rim easy and spine-shudderingly good. He moans low in his throat, primal and pleased as he works up a shallow rhythm. The slick noise between his thighs makes him wonder how wet he’s going to get for his alphas, in heat.

 **_His_ ** _alphas._

The orgasm takes him by surprise, and he lets out a half-strangled shout as he spills helplessly over his hand, clenching down on the one finger inside of him. He comes much longer than normal, until his face is hotter than the sun and there’s a veritable puddle of his spend on the sheets, having trickled off both ways from his belly. He’s breathing hard, trying to get a grip on the world again, but his head is slightly spinning. He feels...lighter, now. He gives a laugh, half disbelieving, half joy.

Just after he’s cleaned himself up with a corner of a blanket, there’s a knock at the door, rather heavy and loud. He jumps a little. “Y-yes?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Are you alright, omega?” Vesemir asks, sounding almost as out of breath as Jaskier had been a few moments ago. The reminder that all the wolves had probably heard, and _gods, smelled,_ what he’d just done makes Jaskier flush brightly.

“Yes! I’m-I’m alright! I. How are you?” Jaskier cringes at his response, clearly flustered at the thought of being found out.

There’s a low chuckle from the door. “I’m rather alright, thank you. May I enter?” At Jaskier’s admittance, he steps in, carrying several sturdy blankets, none of them folded. “I come bearing gifts.”

“What’s this?” Jaskier asks with a smile. Vesemir sets them down on the bed.

“Nesting supplies,” Vesemir explains. “Today’s the last day we really have until your heat begins, so preparations are today’s plan.” Jaskier almost thinks he’s in the clear, avoiding having to speak about the come-stained sheets, but Vesemir just leans on the wall and smiles. “You’ve sent the others into quite a frenzy.”

“I—I have?” Jaskier grips the blankets a little harder over his prick. He still hadn’t managed to pull up his pants.

“No secrets in Kaer Morhen,” Vesemir reminds him. “It’ll be a few hours before they’re tired enough to be calm. Is there anything I can do for you before then?”

“Oh, I.” Vesemir’s one raised eyebrow tells him it would be unwise to apologize for taking his pleasure. “I don’t suppose I could have a bath?”

* * *

Kaer Morhen is growing into possibly the fairytale castle of Jaskier’s dreams. Not only are there four incredibly attractive alphas ready to mate and claim him all winter long, but there are also _hot springs_ beneath the keep. With as far down as Vesemir carries him, he’s rather surprised to see the bright sky up above them when he enters the springs.

Vesemir explains, there’s a series of mirrors placed throughout Kaer Morhen, set deep in the stones that make up the keep, which reflect light throughout the interior chambers from the earliest, weakest rays of dawn, to the waning surviving light of dusk. It was initially meant to illuminate the vast library, keeping sacred tomes away from the exterior walls and moisture, as well as any attackers. The lighting system had grown over the hundreds of years Kaer Morhen stood, eventually to bring light to the deepest springs in the mountain. Jaskier leans on the wall while Vesemir helps him out of his clothes, and he only blushes a little at the naked intimacy.

_Well, I saw his first, so._

He winces when the splints and bandages unwind from his foot, but he’s still a little too sore to try moving it. Vesemir nods, telling him it will be some weeks before he can bear weight on it. “The heat may help some of the pain, come.”

“Thought the heat would be painful anyway.”

“Not _that_ heat. Now, come.” Jaskier gulps a little at Vesemir’s open arms, making the Witcher laugh. “No use being shy, now. I saw those checkmarks. Almost broke through the paper on some of them.” Jaskier lets himself be carried into the water, where he lets out an absolutely guttural moan at the feeling of warmth wrapping around him.

Vesemir gives a low growl, and has to take a few deep breaths through the nose to calm himself. Whatever it is he’s doing, it works quickly, and he’s slipping into the water across from Jaskier before there’s even a chance to ask what just happened. Jaskier doesn’t want to admit to himself that the growl had been just this side of thrilling and dangerous, just the two things that got him to follow Geralt around with song on his tongue.

The water is simply _divine._ Vesemir was right, Jaskier can hardly feel the pain in his ankle, especially not when it feels like molten gold is making a lifecast of him. After washing as thoroughly as he can, he closes his eyes just for a moment, letting the feeling sink in, before a hand grabs his uninjured foot. He squawks a little, before his eyes meet glittering topaz. “Hope you don’t mind,” Vesemir says with a wink, pressing his thumbs into the soles of Jaskier’s foot.

“N-no, I don’t mind. Good gods, I don’t mind.”

Vesemir works in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the springs himself. “Geralt never do this for you, when he made you walk those miles while he sat on a damned horse all day?” It’s conversational, but Jaskier knows noble life, knows there’s always an ulterior motive. No one in court ever asked about him because they were genuinely _interested._

“He treated me well enough. I enjoyed the hard work, kept my mind off the monotony most days.”

“Not what I asked.” Vesemir’s hand moves up his foot, massaging in between his godsdamned _toes,_ for crying out loud. It’s...well, Jaskier is pretty sure half his brain is melting out into the hot springs, certainly.

“No, he didn’t. I never asked, though. Nor did I ask _permission_ to tag along on his adventures. Knew he’d say no if I actually cared to garner his opinion.”

Vesemir chuckles, bringing his hands up to massage at the tendon in his ankle, the lower calf. The hiking had really taken it out of him, and the knots there were worse than anything Jaskier had ever encountered, before meeting a Witcher, at least. “Harder?” Jaskier requests, meeting Vesemir’s eyes. “Please.”

Vesemir complies. Jaskier supposes this is a test, of sorts. Just as last night, telling Lambert off was a test, to see how he’d handle himself when at the mercy of Witchers. Would he ask for what he wants? Would he say no to what he doesn’t?

Of course, this could all go to shit the second Jaskier’s heat hits.

“You’re in your head again,” Vesemir says, not looking up from where he’s now kneading at the thickest part of Jaskier’s calf. “Be here. Plenty of time to think about the outside world, when there is a way out of here.”

“Yes, alpha.”

The rest of their bath is relatively silent, just enjoying the heat, the silence, the presence. He doesn’t know what does it, what ends it, then.

It’s probably the water. It’s so hot and so fucking relaxing, and the two of them are so near, connected by the warmth, that it hits Jaskier like a punch to the gut. He doubles over and groans. “Jaskier, what—?”

The moment Vesemir’s hand touches his back, it sends a shockwave of lust through him, choking his senses and turning his blood to pure fire. He can only rasp out one word.

_“Heat.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier masturbates to the thought of Geralt's hands. The wolves definitely hear him, and Vesemir takes him down to the hot springs, and gives him a foot massage. While doing so he tests Jaskier's ability to ask for what he wants or doesn't want of them, and not be so timid about his body, since they all agreed to be mating partners. Jaskier goes into an even earlier heat than expected at the end of the chapter.


	5. Cherry Pie (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink notes at the end, summary is spoilery. Jump-ahead warnings include: nonsexual blood...presence?, Vesemir in a sexual context (with Geralt) & oral knotting, exceptionally large dick & belly bulge.

As he’s being rushed back to his room in Vesemir’s arms, Jaskier vividly remembers the “talk” his parents had given him in his youth.

“The Redanian court mage has Seen that you will present omega, Julian. We don’t wish to send you off to be married, but you know how things are. In the meantime, until your first heat, you may attend Oxenfurt Academy, and you will return to Lettenhove to fulfill your duties to your family.”

He was nine.

He’d lived in fear of the overly-sweet scent flooding him, turning his skin sensitive and hot, decimating his reason and his mind. There were plenty of alphas at Oxenfurt, who looked at his ‘unpresented’ status as ‘practically omega’. Jaskier had learned to fight at ten.

By the time he turned seventeen, he was well-used to suppressing his heats and hiding his scent off of the parchments he sent home to Lettenhove.  _ A late bloomer, _ his family had said with disdain.  _ Maybe he doesn’t have a designation at all. _ His mother preferred he stay at Oxenfurt,  _ away _ until the moment arose.

Now, being carried back to a bed he’d just wiped his come all over, in a castle full of Witchers promising to be  _ good _ to him, he could clearly say he’s a bit out of his depth, here. He’s shaking and moaning uncomfortably when Vesemir sets him down.

He’s bleary-eyed when he hears Vesemir snarl at the door, barking to keep the others out of the room until the nest is made. Vesemir moves faster, more methodically, than he’s ever seen Geralt move, and he knows Geralt can move  _ fast. _ There’s a haphazard nest constructed over him in no time, finished just as an initial wave of nausea hits him, hard. “Fuck—” Jaskier whines, covering his mouth as he heaves a little. Vesemir hauls him to the edge of the bed, placing him over the edge. He dry heaves a little before spitting out some bile. “What?”

“The suppressants are so deep in your body, it’ll take awhile for them to flush out for heat.” Fucking humans, making laws about biology where it’s easy to die for denying your urges. Vesemir strokes his back gently and snaps his eyes to the three alphas at the door. “Eskel. Lambert. Bring up food and water and extra salve and bandages. Geralt, to me.” Jaskier can feel them scatter. Vesemir holds him as he shakes and whines. “Shh, here, here’s Geralt, see?”

“Vesemir—” Geralt sounds hesitant, but is cut short by a glare from the elder alpha. “Come here, Jaskier, let’s get in your nest, hm?”

“Alpha…” Jaskier whines, half out of it already from his body’s last push to get the suppressants out. His scent is scared, lost and unsure. Geralt pulls him into his arms and presses their foreheads together.

“I’m here, omega. I’m here.” Geralt maneuvers him until he’s got Jaskier’s wrist on his neck, and his on Jaskier’s in return. To his surprise, Vesemir gently rests his own wrist on the other side of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier passes out with a little happy whimper.

Vesemir sighs and just settles back, waiting for the others to return.

* * *

Jaskier wakes groggily, feeling like he’s had a hot fever that’s not quite done with him yet. His skin smells gross, sweaty and...unnatural. He whines and tries to move, but he’s being held securely by Geralt’s arms, his foot back in bandages and a splint, numbed like always. He’s thankful for it, distantly.

“You back with us, Jas?” Geralt asks, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It’s a surprisingly sweet gesture Jaskier wants to mean something, but Geralt is probably just a caring heat partner. Jaskier snuggles closer, pressing his lips to Geralt’s neck.

“No, you can stay down there Jaskier, but I’m going to speak and you’re going to listen,” Vesemir says above, the alpha command in his voice nothing short of unquestionable.

“Yes, Alpha,” Jaskier squeaks against Geralt’s throat.

“The suppressants are fully flushed from your body now. Your true heat is going to set in very quickly, and when it does, I need you to know three things. One, that I will be right here, I will not move from this spot once. You can always talk to me, tell me how it feels. Second, you  _ will _ tell me what you want, tell me what you want to stop, tell me what you want to slow down, as soon as you want it to. You can tell us to all go away and we will leave you be for the night. Three, you will do as I say, when I say, and tell me when you are unsure. Do you understand, omega?”

“Yes, Alpha, I understand.” Jaskier nods, shaking under the onslaught of Alpha command. A hand pushes into his hair.

“Good. You’re doing so well, already.” Vesemir hums a little, a toneless, tuneless thing, but it’s deep and it’s warm and it’s  _ Alpha. _ “Do you want Geralt first?”

“Yes please!” Jaskier squeaks, fingers gripping said Witcher like he would object. “If that’s…” Jaskier looks up into Geralt’s eyes, already blown wide with lust, his interest already pressing against his bare hip. “Alright with you?”

Geralt chuckles, warm and approving, and Jaskier melts at the easy affection. All the weeks sleeping on the cold, hard ground, he’d take a hundred thousand more just to feel that affection just once more. “Of course it is. May I kiss you, omega?”

Gods, but they feel like strangers, and under different circumstances, Jaskier would have slapped his arm and told him off, but the formality of it sends Jaskier’s insides flipping. Jaskier is barely finished nodding before Geralt’s capturing his lips with his own, kissing him deep and rather romantically. Were Jaskier not already horizontal, his knees would have buckled and failed him.

Geralt’s lips leave his only for a moment, to pull off his shirt, before he’s pressing their bare chests together and kissing Jaskier’s sad pout away. There’s a bit of a full-body  _ tug _ and a snarl from Geralt before Jaskier realizes Lambert and Eskel are pulling off Geralt’s boots and trousers, leaving him  _ oh goodness. _

Geralt catches him staring. “You want that in you, Jaskier?” The bastard, he  _ knows _ what that low purr does to him. Geralt leads one of Jaskier’s hands, until he’s wrapping his fingers around that  _ gloriously thick _ prick of his, and—

“You’re already knotting?” Jaskier says, in awe. The amusement reflected back on him is heady.

“Pre-knot. Can’t help it, you smelling like that, looking like this.” Geralt encourages him to stroke his dick steady and slow, hardening him up even more. “Would you let me taste you, touch you how I want?”

“H-how do you want?” Jaskier asks, past breathless. If they weren’t Witchers, they wouldn’t have heard.

“I want to be gentle with you, I’ve always wanted to. Gonna kiss you, finger you open til you’re shaking and screaming, gonna make you see stars before you even get my cock in you. Will you sing for me again, little bard?” Jaskier can only whine helplessly, rutting his own dick against Geralt’s. “You have to say yes for me, Jaskier.”

“Yes!” Jaskier cries, feeling like his brain is going to fly straight out of his skull. Geralt  _ moves _ him, so he’s on his knees, weight entirely off of his ankle. A soft pillow rests beneath him, courtesy of Eskel. Geralt presses reverent kisses down his spine, before pressing his teeth teasingly against his side, then his asscheek, then just below where it makes Jaskier  _ quake. _

“So good for me, aren’t you?” Geralt rasps. “Tell me how you like this, Jaskier, I want to hear you.”

Jaskier’s heavy-lidded eyes fly open at the first firm, slick slide of a tongue against his hole. Air catches in his throat and he feels all his hairs stand on end, before he whimpers and melts against the pillows, face to the sheets, and ass wherever Geralt wants it. The White Wolf’s tongue ploughs deep inside, past the relaxed rim of his ass, actually  _ slurping _ and messily burying his face as close as he can. Jaskier feels like he’s going to pass out again, until there’s a hand in his hair, grounding him.  _ Vesemir. _

“He asked you to tell him how you feel,” Vesemir reminds him. Jaskier gives a shaky nod and starts to babble.

“Feels so good, never had nobody in me before, you’re so deep, please more, a-ah!” Jaskier whines around the edges of a shout. “Geralt!” he cries. “I’m—”

“No you’re not, not til I’m in you.” Geralt’s voice is thick and almost  _ slurring, _ like he’s drunk off of drinking up Jaskier’s slick direct from the source. There’s suddenly two fingers pressing in alongside his tongue, an easy fit in his heat-mad body. Jaskier chokes on a sob, instinctively rocking his hips backward on whatever Geralt gives him.

All fucking  _ four _ of them coo at him, dominating his senses with approving alpha scent. Jaskier rocks a little more, rhythmic like the song in his heart. “Oh, oh Geralt, please, please give me more... _ more please…” _

He is not denied, three fingers shoving deep, a tongue laving at the not-quite taut rim of him. He’ll stretch much,  _ much _ more by the time his heat wanes for rest. 

“You want my dick, omega?” Geralt presses a sucking kiss to the smooth skin on his ass.

Jaskier nearly feels his neck protest by how hard he nods. “Pleasepleaseplease,  _ alpha!” _ Jaskier is fucking himself back on Geralt’s hand now, needy and greedy in one. Geralt pulls back to kneel up behind him,  _ mounting him, _ and then there’s the head of that massive cock, pressing in, in, in…

The head pops in with no issue, Jaskier’s slick hole welcoming him in like it had always meant to be. As Geralt presses in further, he has to do so in short, gentle thrusts, stretching him open on his dick ever so slowly. Only Vesemir can see Jaskier’s wide eyes, surprise at the large intrusion, and how his body takes it so well. His mouth is formed into an ‘O’, bitten pink lips almost slick with drool.

After a few minutes, Geralt is as far as he can go without shoving his knot in, and he’d never do that to Jaskier. At least not this time. The pair groan simultaneously when Geralt pulls back, as far back as the crown, and pushes back in, a wet, sensuous slide that wipes every thought from Jaskier’s head. When Vesemir checks in with him, all he can do is moan, throaty and off-key for the first time in his entire life.

Geralt’s pace does not increase with frantic want, but stays steady and gentle, getting Jaskier used to being split open on an alpha dick. He’d be well-used to it by the end of winter. Geralt’s hands wrap around his waist and pull him,  _ gods, he’s being  _ used _ like a  _ toy. Jaskier cries out in pleasure, teetering on the edge and blissed out all at once, moaning and letting his body move with Geralt’s.

It’s a dance, though not the one Jaskier first fantasized about. Their bodies  _ know _ one another, deeply and truly. One of Jaskier’s hands goes up to rest atop Geralt’s, encouraging him to move deeper, to claim him harder. Geralt makes choked-off noise when Jaskier experimentally clenches down on the dick holding him open, and there’s half a snarl before there’s the—

The scent of blood.

Vesemir had moved fast, pressing his arm against Geralt’s claiming bite and taking the mark. He doesn’t even groan at the feeling, but Geralt, now spurred on by his more animal urges, starts to thrust harder, faster, deeper into Jaskier. Numbly, Jaskier realizes that Vesemir just took the force of a mating bite for him, the thought of which reignites the words in his mouth.

He’s beyond words, snarling and swearing between the animalistic noises coming out of his mouth. It’s like a switch has been flipped, making Jaskier thrust back against Geralt’s dick, feeling the edge of his knot forming larger and larger with each push back. He changes his pace to begging, pleading without half a thought to what he’s saying. The knot grows and grows behind him, and for the first time, a moment of apprehension crosses his mind.

_ But oh, he  _ wants _ it. _

Vesemir takes his hand, pulling it from the wrinkled sheets and wrapping their fingers together. His noises become guttural, halfway whines and halfway shouts, until, until, until—

_ The knot is in him. _

Jaskier screams at the feeling, coming instantly all over the sheets below him, the knot perfect and big and  _ his. _ He can’t move back and forth on Geralt’s dick anymore, the pressure too great for his legs to move at all. He’s still thrashing with need, heedless of any injury as he’s filled. Gods, but he can feel the knot  _ swelling _ even inside him, pumping seed into his body. His hole drinks it up greedily. His eyes roll back a little as the knot finishes growing, tying them together.

_ Oh gods, he’s  _ **_knotted_ ** _. _

He lets out a high whine, satisfied and happy, before his knees give out. Geralt grunts and goes with him, rolling so his injured leg doesn’t take the weight. A tension in the room dissipates, a great weight lifted off of them. Jaskier hums and squirms a little, getting used to it. Geralt growls behind him, squeezing his side. “Don’t get too excited, we’re not done with you yet.” He presses a kiss to his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and a realization.

“You’re hurt,” Jaskier says softly, looking up at Vesemir. The wolves don’t apologize for these kinds of things anymore, but Jaskier doesn’t know that. All he sees is Vesemir, bleeding for him.

“It’s alright, pup.” Vesemir tries to assure him, but even a three-hundred-year-old Witcher can’t fight those bright blue eyes. He tries to show Jaskier he’s alright, that the wound is healing, most of the blood gone, but quicker than he can stop it, Jaskier is pressing wet little kisses to the bitemark. He laps at the remaining blood like a kitten, unbothered by the slightly  _ off _ scent and taste of Witcher blood. They’re all watching him, holding their breath. When Vesemir is all cleaned up to Jaskier’s liking, the omega sits back, smiling. There’s a drop of blood on his broad, smiling lips, and it shouldn’t be sweet, but  _ fuck _ does it do something to them all.

“Scent you?” Geralt asks, nuzzling at Jaskier’s ear.

“Please,” Jaskier breathes, settling in. He can’t reciprocate, not like this, but at least bare his neck as wide as he can. Geralt presses a kiss over his pulse before covering it with his wrist, his fingertips playing with the ends of his hair. Jaskier floats away happily, eased by his heat and their closeness.

The five of them breathe almost in time with one another. The Witchers are able to more easily, meditating to keep their control, but Jaskier’s heart is only human.

* * *

As he floats back down to earth, he’s aware of Geralt’s knot slipping out, deflating enough to pull back. A flood of come and slick paints his thighs, but where he’d always expected to be disgusted at the feeling, he revels in it happily, his skin feeling warm and dreamy all over. He makes a cute little noise when someone checks on his ankle, making sure he didn’t strain it.

Once his vision returns to normal from its blown-out hazy daydream state, his heat follows close on its heels. He gasps in a sharp breath and grabs at Vesemir’s arm again, unsure for a moment before remembering his promise to him.

“Alpha,” Jaskier breathes tightly.

“Yes, Jaskier. You want more?” Jaskier grunts against the tight, hot coiling in his gut. “How about Lambert next? He’ll treat ya good.”

“Lambert…” Jaskier draws out the name and savors it in his mouth like a fine wine.

“No one’s allowed to call me by my name anymore but him,” Lambert says, climbing into the safety of the nest. “Hello, omega,” he says cheekily. “You look mighty messy down there, can’t have that. Clean you up before I fuck you?”

“Mouth. Put it to  _ good _ use,” Jaskier grumbles sassily, pouting into the pillow. The others laugh, obviously relieved for the lighter tone.

“As you wish.” He’s once again  _ manhandled _ into place, one leg at a time, one elbow up at a time. “Bend your back for me—oh  _ good job,” _ Lambert praises, before falling to his own hands and knees, instantly pouncing on the feast before him.

Jaskier makes a startled noise at the feeling. Lambert isn’t so much licking  _ in _ to him as he’s licking him  _ everywhere. _ His tongue makes frequent trips from his balls all the way up past his hole, licking absolutely everything up. “You smell like pack already, omega,” Lambert growls, his voice taking on the same heavy, thick quality as Geralt’s had. The other wolves groan in approval at Lambert’s observation.

“Not til I’ve had all of you, though, right?” Jaskier gives as well as he takes, his senses still in reach, though just a little far away.

“I  _ like _ you,” Lambert laughs, the soft puff of air against his sopping wet hole making him shiver. He’s not at all overwhelmed by the previous knot in him, and takes Lambert’s tongue well.

It’s not an easy task. Lambert has a rather  _ active _ tongue, and is just as dextrous as Geralt. Jaskier is halfway to absolute  _ insanity _ by the time Lambert deems him ready for his dick.

And he’s a wild fuck, hard and fast and feral from the start. He’s able to keep his mouth well away from Jaskier’s neck, though each frustrated snarl and snap of his hips tells him that he’d much rather be marking him up to the seven hells and back. He is none of Geralt’s earlier gentleness, which is thrilling and adventurous in all the best ways. Jaskier shouts and pushes up onto his hands, finding the top of the headboard and viciously throwing his ass back on Lambert’s cock.

Oh yes, Jaskier gives as good as he can get. He’s a snarling little bedmate in turn, blind with lust and  _ demanding _ what he wants from the Witcher buried inside him. “Give me more, I know you’re going easy on me,  _ fuck _ me alpha!” That’s what does it.

Lambert’s knees shift, pushing Jaskier’s stance wider so he’s practically sitting in Lambert’s lap. The angle is  _ indescribably _ deep, stretching him past what he thinks is even fucking possible at this point, but Jaskier has never said never in his entire sexual life. Jaskier looks over his shoulder, locking eyes with the Witcher in a fiery glare, a battle of wills as they fight to control one another. Neither will win, neither will lose. The thrill of the game is enough. Jaskier gives an experimental roll of his hips, side to side, and takes great pleasure in watching Lambert’s eyes roll back, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to hold back the whine.

“Lambert,” Jaskier demands. The Witcher obediently opens his eyes, his hips stuttering in their rhythm for just a moment at whatever he sees before him. “Give me your fucking knot, right the fuck  _ now.” _

In a flash, Lambert is burying a hand in Jaskier’s hair, pulling him up off the headboard and slamming his upper body down into the pillows, receiving a warning glare from Vesemir which he  _ fucking ignores. _ His entire body goes into feeding Jaskier his cock, his knot growing and growing and pressing in _ in _ **_in_ ** until they’re tied together, tight and fixed and shuddering.

Jaskier’s breathing just as hard as Lambert, which is something rather impressive for the omega who started the day a knot-virgin. When Lambert moves his hips, he pulls a shocked, delighted noise from the omega. “Oh, we’re not done yet, pretty,” Lambert breathes.

It’s slow, almost torturously slow compared to just before, but practically atom by atom, Lambert pulls his hips back, taking Jaskier’s knotted ass with him. Jaskier gives a steady keen, scrabbling at the sheets and swearing. “Again. Do ‘gain,” Jaskier gasps. Lambert complies, watching the omega fall apart on his knot. He’s already filled to the brim with alpha seed, but takes more and more and  _ more, _ stretching his hole just so that a few drops of that seed escape, racing in a sea of slick around him.

“You like tuggin’ on my knot, omega?” Lambert says, his hand now soothing where it’s still buried in Jaskier’s hair.

“Yes, yes alpha please, I love it, more, moremoremoremore…”

“Alright I’ll give you more.” They only get to play like that for a little bit before Jaskier’s pushed over the edge again, spending in the same spot as before. He gives a rather undignified shriek at the feeling, his body tensing for one, two seconds before he melts back against the pillows. Lambert moves so he’s more comfortable and holds him close. “So good for me, did so good. You’re gonna take Eskel next, good thing I got you stretched out for him, you just rest now, omega, you’re gonna need it…”

Jaskier has half a thought about teasing him for his atrocious dirty talk, but he’s already being lulled back into a gentle doze, holding Vesemir’s hand and dreaming on a knot for the second time that morning.

* * *

When he wakes, Lambert is...well, he’s not knotted in him anymore, but he  _ is _ three fingers deep, almost methodically massaging him open. Jaskier makes a small noise and opens his eyes, and is met with a rather incredible sight.

Geralt is eye-level with him, his mouth wrapped around Vesemir’s dick—no, around Vesemir’s  _ knot. _ He’s hazy-eyed and happy, his jaw spread wide. It’s like Geralt doesn’t even register that Vesemir is stretching him open like this, happy just to be here. Jaskier sees Vesemir’s wrist against Geralt’s neck next, the powerful alpha’s scent most likely keeping him in a sated mood.

Vesemir is looking at him already when Jaskier looks up. “You should eat,” the Witcher says, like his dick isn’t choking the  _ White Wolf of Kaer Morhen. _

“I. Sure?” Jaskier bites his lip when Lambert gives a particularly  _ interesting _ twist to his fingers, and squeezes his eyes shut in pleasure.

“Lambert. Enough,” Vesemir says, and Vesemir’s word is not challenged. Not in this bed. Lambert’s fingers slide carefully out of Jaskier’s hole, and the gaping feeling disorients him a bit, even with the almost-shy kiss pressed to his asscheek. “Here. Open.”

Jaskier blinks a few times to realize Vesemir is  _ handfeeding him. _ He makes a small squeaking noise and opens his mouth, a silent  _ yes, Alpha, _ on his tongue.

He’s fed like that, in pieces, until Jaskier’s guts give that now-familiar twist and  _ pull _ that has him whining and clutching at his middle.

“Don’t do that, I’ll take care of you. Here.” In Jaskier’s disoriented haze, he’s vaguely aware of his limbs being rearranged how Eskel wants them, several pillows shoved beneath his hips and back and leg. He hums at the feeling of Eskel’s hands all over him.

“Your hands are rainbows…” Jaskier says, pleased and slightly loopy. Eskel’s hands are indeed stained a little, red up to his knuckles and blue along his fingertips. There’s a blotch of yellow on his wrist. Jaskier wants to kiss it.

“They’re from dyes. Not dirty,” Eskel says, reassuringly. His hands become slightly  _ more _ magical when they bring up—

“What the fuck is  _ THAT.” _ Jaskier nearly sits up, Eskel’s absolutely massive cock resting all the way up past his navel. He’s thankfully already fully hard, but  _ gods _ that knot must be absolutely— “Fucking humongous. That’s going in  _ me?” _

Eskel doesn’t react with shyness or bashfulness. “Only if you want it, Jaski—”

“YES. Now. Want it now. In. Now. Let’s go. Dick in hole, chop chop.” They all laugh - save Geralt, of course, he’s having a great time though - and settle in again, happy with the fact their omega likes them, that his alphas want him.

It takes almost a whole  _ hand _ to get Jaskier ready for Eskel. He’s gentle as ever, crooning soft words, sweet as poetry and hot as spices into his ear. Gods, they’re so close like this, Eskel’s body matched up perfectly with Jaskier’s. When he finally pushes in, Jaskier swears he sees  _ stars. _ The heavy weight of the Witcher above him only assists in Jaskier’s body taking him, deeper and deeper and deeper. Jaskier’s making mindless little babbles and most likely  _ drooling down the side of his neck,  _ but Eskel doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s an  _ intense _ lover. Jaskier had always liked fucking his partners face-to-face, he felt it was more intimate that way. Eskel is apparently also of the same mind, kissing him between whispered, filthy promises. He recounts everything promised to him on the checklist and  _ a couple brain-shattering suggestions more, _ leaving Jaskier a panting, whining mess by the time he inexplicably bottoms out in him.

It’s an utterly life changing feeling. It feels like at least four of Geralt’s knots, all in a row with one another. Jaskier kisses back as well as he can manage, desperate for more.

Geralt had released off of Vesemir some time ago, and was now joining in with the others, laying on praise in his raspy voice. Jaskier is sure he’s going to pass out like this. His dick is already drooling steadily into his navel, where—

“I can see you in me…” Jaskier cries, looking down between them. There is, amazingly, a rather impressive bulge coming from his insides, rising and falling in time with Eskel’s machine-like thrusts. “You’ve ruined me, Eskel, absolutely ruined me.”

“Never. Could never ruin you.” Eskel’s pace picks up a bit, pressing kisses up Jaskier’s neck, over his scent gland, to his jaw. “Knot’s close. Think you can—”

“Yes!” Jaskier wails, fighting to keep still. He’s never wanted anything more than Eskel’s knot in his  _ life. _ The others look at him with awe. It’d taken each of them several attempts to be able to (almost literally) stomach it. As it is, Jaskier’s guts feel kneaded and rearranged, just to make room for Eskel’s massive dick. “Please gimme. Please, Eskel, alpha,  _ alpha _ please…” Jaskier’s eyes well up with tears, his body brought right to the razor’s edge as—

Their necks press together, scent gland to scent gland. A supernova of feeling erupts between them, drenching them and drowning them and absolutely flooding each other, with each other. Their orgasms are old news to the new and incredible feeling overtaking them.

It feels like a sun-warm, glittering river, intertwining with the summer sky, golden waters crashing over rapids, reaching into the sky and falling back down in a rainbow. It’s the first slaked thirst of mankind, and the first home build nearby it. They are eternal in each other, and pass a lifetime in a handful of seconds, before it fades away into a warm, velvet, dark.

* * *

Vesemir is...well, stunned seems too small a word for it. One moment Jaskier was begging to be knotted up by Eskel, the next they were both shouting wildly, and their scents were pouring off in powerful waves as they tied together. They’re both blinking, but unseeing, the surety of what’s transpired clear as ever to Vesemir.

_ A Bond. _

Only very, very special omegas could bond with alpha Witchers, and it seems Geralt had led one here to Kaer Morhen.

This was something he can keep to himself for now, though, so he covers them all up in blankets, fortifies the nest, and keeps watch over his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is readied for his heat in double-time. Vesemir declares himself as Jaskier's sort of lifeline through his heat, promising to keep watch over him throughout.
> 
> Geralt fucks Jaskier on his tongue and dick and knots him, with a whole bunch of virginity feels. Geralt goes to instinctually bite Jaskier's neck, but since they hadn't discussed that explicitly, Vesemir lets his own arm be bitten.
> 
> Jaskier later licks up a little bit of Vesemir's blood from the wound. (to skip this scene, stop at "You're hurt," and jump forward to "Scent you?")
> 
> After, Lambert fucks Jaskier. When Jaskier wakes up from a little nap, he sees Geralt orally knotted on Vesemir. (To skip this scene, read until "rather incredible sight" and jump to "a particularly interesting twist". It is mentioned again later, though not graphically.)
> 
> Eskel next fucks Jaskier, and Eskel has a very, very, very large dick. Jaskier remarks about being able to physically see Eskel's huge dick through his midsection. (if you hate the belly bulge, jump from "drooling steadily into his navel" to the line break)
> 
> An important plot point (weird, I know) happens at the end of the chapter, after the line break.
> 
> Please (nicely) let me know if there's anything else I should tag for in the chapter notes. Thanks!


	6. One for the Money, Two for the Hoe (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings at the end. Overall warnings include mating/claiming bites, prostate massaging/milking, and the concept of double-knotting, which I'm pretty sure I just made up because my brain said "but what about two".
> 
> Please let me know if the chapter tags/summaries/jumps are needed, or if I can just stick to the general warnings at the top. Thanks!

They’re all cuddled in with one another when Jaskier wakes again. There’s a slight soreness in his ass, but it’s satisfying and delicious, knowing he’s been used and used well. He wriggles happily, finding his leg propped up as usual, on a wall of the nest, which...had seen better days.

Well, better _hours._

Jaskier is helped up with little rumbling, happy noises from his four alphas. He smiles at them, pressing kisses to each cheek he can. He feels...normal. For the first time since his heat had struck. “Do we...um. Should we clean up where we can? When we can, I mean?” Jaskier says, suddenly uncertain but frowning where the nest just feels  _ wrong. _

“On it,” Lambert says, getting to his knees to fortify the walls a little better, widening it to almost the entire length and width of the mattress. Eskel gets a cloth, wiping up the spots where come had dried on his skin, once indulgent, now itchy. Geralt keeps his arms wrapped around Jaskier, nuzzling into the base of his neck, happy.

“Omega,” Vesemir says, catching his attention.

“Yes, Alpha?”

“While we have your attention, I’d wanted to ask your permission for some things.” Jaskier gulps and nods. “I know we would all feel more comfortable if you’d told us how you felt about mating marks, biting, the like.”

“YES.” Jaskier slaps a hand over his mouth, the word having jumped out past his lips before he could even think about it. He does, and the answer doesn’t change. “Please.”

Vesemir chuckles, as does Geralt at his neck, teasingly scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin over his pulse. “Do you have anything that’s confused you, that you’re unsure of now we’re in the middle of things? We’re going to be going into rut soon, after all.”

“I, maybe?” Jaskier squirms a little til he’s facing Vesemir. “What was scratched out near the bottom?”

All four wolves freeze, and Lambert laughs, loud and amused. “Told you he’d—”

“It was a  _ joke, _ we’re not  _ doing _ that to him—” Eskel frowns at Lambert.

“Double knotting,” Lambert says with no preamble.

_ What is  _ **_that._ **

The others groan in frustration and disappointment. “He was gonna find out anyway!”

“You mean...taking two of you? And both your knots? I don’t mind th—”

“As flattering as that is, we have all week. No this is...different.” Lambert lounges against Geralt’s other side. “Witchers, we’re...more than man, more than wolf or beast. When we’re knotted up, sometimes if we can get the knotter to come again,” Lambert makes a popping noise and holds both fists over one another, like a cairn.

Jaskier is bewildered. Okay, this must be a Witcher thing. None of them would  _ lie _ to him about something like that. “But where?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head to the side curiously. Lambert’s grin turns salacious.

“Right at the head. Care to find out what it feels like, omega?” Eskel starts to protest again, but Lambert waves him off. “Vesemir said he should have all the facts before choosing, here I am, giving facts.”

Jaskier swallows, a little roughly. “Will it be...uncomfortable? I’ve heard knots can be s-sensitive.” The more he tries to push the thought from his head, focus just on taking care of his alphas, the more the thought grows, taking root in his brainstem and pouring molten-hot  _ want _ down his spine. They all groan at the lust clouding his scent. Jaskier feels the slick grow between his legs.

“Oh, I think it’s the furthest thing from uncomfortable, unless you don’t like being filled up twice in a row with a knot of come.” Lambert inspects his nails, saying this as nonchalantly as possible

“I...I think I’d like that.”

“We’ll  _ try _ it. We have all  _ winter _ to explore your dirty little mind, Lambert.”

“Dirty, but not little.” Lambert winks and hops out of the nest, darting next door for something. Jaskier can hear him rummaging around in Geralt’s room.

“You’ll be locked for quite awhile, omega. You sure?” Vesemir asks, one hand at the back of his neck.

“I’ve fallen asleep on three knots today, I think I can manage it.” He’s sassy, but known to be in over his head at the best times. Vesemir shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“I won’t protect your neck from mating bites, but I’ll take your hand when they happen. You tap me like this,” Vesemir taps twice on Jaskier’s palm, firm and too well-paced to be accidental, “And I’ll get them off you, if you can’t tell me.”

The other wolves in the nest frown at the thought of losing control and hurting their omega, but know it’s partially for Jaskier’s benefit, having a plan.

Their timing is good, too. Almost the moment Lambert settles back in with a long and thin lacquered piece of wood, carved with a little ball at the end, his heat starts to rise again. Each time is a slower twist to his gut, a weaker tug to his insides, but it’s still very uncomfortable.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, holding onto the man.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt promises, rolling Jaskier onto his back and settling between his legs. He hisses softly at the stretch when Geralt pushes in, but he’s loose and wet enough that it’s eye-rollingly smooth. “Gods, you feel so good like this. Feel so perfect on my cock,” Geralt whispers between kisses.

Jaskier adjusts, rolling his hips into the motion and holding him by the shoulders. “Yes…” he sings. Geralt gives a firm slide back, followed by a steady push in, deep as he can go. The heat in Jaskier’s gut spreads out, warming him up. He licks his lips and presses kisses down Geralt’s own neck, just to feel that column of pale skin vibrate beneath his lips at the next moan.

Jaskier loves the novelty of kissing Geralt. It feels natural, their lips moving together, sharing moans through the mouth like an elixir of life passed one to the other. Geralt lifts Jaskier’s legs up, almost bending him in half beneath him, rolling his ass up higher. The slap of Geralt’s balls against his ass sounds wet and obscene, their sweat mixing with Jaskier’s slick, with the cum that hadn’t yet leaked out.

The angle makes Jaskier’s eyes roll back again, his breath caught in his throat as his chest tightens. “Oh,” Jaskier groans.  _ “Oh!” _

Geralt pounds him like this, sure he can take it, after the show he’d put on with Lambert and Eskel. “You wanna take my knot again, omega? You wanna get bred right up? Tell me,” Geralt breathes, nipping at the edge of his ear. Jaskier groans.

“Alpha,  _ please, _ want your knot... _ want your  _ **_knots_ ** _ in me… _ ” Jaskier pants, squirming and trying to rock back, but Geralt’s grip is steel, though his breathing falters just for a second at Jaskier’s urges. “You wanna fill me up, stuff me full?” Jaskier whines, a moment before clenching his hole around Geralt. They both whine at the friction, loving it. He does it again, before cheekily whispering, “Tell me.”

Amusement radiates off of Vesemir next to him, and the other wolves in the nest. Lambert and Eskel are playing with themselves idly, enjoying the show. Jaskier would never have better heat partners than the ones in his nest now. Geralt shifts his knees up and leaves a feather-light kiss on Jaskier’s mouth.

The pace picks up, and Jaskier knows Geralt would be going deeper, fucking him more rhythmically, were the goal a shared orgasm.

They have a different goal for now. Geralt takes selfishly, his breath going from pants and grunts to desperate moans and whimpers. He grinds his cock down, and Jaskier’s breath catches at the somewhat-familiar feeling of a knot wanting permission, craving entrance. Jaskier bites down on Geralt’s lip, reminding him of what he wants. “Alpha,” Jaskier breathes. “Claim me, please.”

All four of them whine wantonly at his bared throat, but Geralt is the only one with access. He leans down and presses a slick, wet kiss to his pulse, before the knot starts to grow, swell, almost  _ too big— _

Jaskier’s body takes the knot, as it’s meant to. He screams, that overwhelming feeling taking over and shattering his senses once more. The white-hot splash of come across his insides sates the heat inside him, marking him from the inside out.

He’s about to whine Geralt’s name when a hand takes his, and teeth sink into the soft skin above his scent gland, breaking through to the flesh beneath. Jaskier kicks his legs wildly, his injured one held in another’s hand, but does not tap away. His scent floods with the coppery scent of blood before it’s licked up and kissed better, soothed by a clever tongue. Jaskier can hardly see straight, his eyes rolling wildly around the room, and lets out a long, high keen.

“Me, on me, on, please, please,  _ alpha, oh alpha,” _ Jaskier babbles. Vesemir seems to understand what he wants, and tugs at Geralt’s long hair, pulling him off of the bite for a moment, before pressing their necks together, sealed even closer by blood and spit and sweat.

Jaskier’s body thrums with energy, and they both feel themselves hurtling through golden clouds, like a sky at daybreak. They can’t let go of one another, practically catatonic in pleasure.

_ Another Bond, then? _ Vesemir thinks, stroking his thumb along the inside of Jaskier’s wrist. Jaskier’s heart beats fast, almost twice that of Geralt’s elevated heart rate. “Lambert, you wanna get a move on?” Vesemir says, still not impressed he wanted to try this at Jaskier’s first full heat.

“Am I...missing something here?” Lambert says, holding the prostate massager in one hand, the other slicked with a greasy balm. He gives a suspicious look to Vesemir, then to the knotted couple, and then to Eskel, who’s practically drooling. “Are you...scent-drunk?” Lambert asks, poking him in the shoulder. Eskel has the same slack expression as the two joined together.

“They’re not ill or injured. You know heats and ruts are fucking weird at the best of times,” Vesemir sighs. The old man clearly knows more than he’s letting on, but doesn’t elaborate. Lambert swallows any trepidation and shrugs.

“Well then. Let’s get popping, hm?” Lambert smirks at his own joke before moving up behind Geralt, still stock-still in his weird state. Lambert lays his clean hand on Geralt’s ass before moving his slicked fingers up and down his crack, pleased when he can work a moan out of the man. “Good,” Lambert whispers, gently circling Geralt’s hole and slicking him up real good. He doesn’t need to be stretched, not for this toy, but Geralt could sit on a pair of fingers for hours if someone wanted. He likes being fucked, almost as much as Jaskier seems to.

Lambert doesn’t waste time. He knows Jaskier doesn’t want to be kept waiting from his own orgasm, and denying the omega what he wants isn’t exactly something Lambert’s interested in. the toy is slicked and pressed up inside of Geralt, a thin thing with a notched handle for a good grip. Lambert had carved it years and years ago for Geralt, and had used it on the man more times than they could count, thanks to the mind-blurring effects of their ruts. If he moves it just…

Geralt lets out a shouted moan, shuddering atop Jaskier.

_ There. _

“Gotcha, wolf,” Lambert says, pleased. Beneath Geralt, Jaskier has comewhat come back to himself, blinking blearily at his surroundings, before his body realizes he’s stuffed full of come and a massive knot. Geralt’s prick pulses in time with his full-body shudders, and a flash of black hair and golden eyes over Geralt’s shoulder reminds Jaskier of why they’re not resting and napping.

_ Double knotting. _

Jaskier bites his lip and moans softly. With Geralt almost frozen in his state of mind numbing pleasure, he can move about a little beneath the Witcher. The side of his neck aches deeply, but when he feels that knot tug against his rim, his body forgets any pain he’s ever had.

“Fuck,” Jaskier chokes, feeling come slosh around inside of him as Lambert works. Geralt’s hips stutter almost imperceptibly, except for the push and pressure inside his guts. “Please.”

“We’ll take care of you, omega, you just hold onto Geralt,  _ just _ like that…” Lambert encourages, smiling over Geralt’s shoulder at him again. “He usually doesn’t last long, not the first deep massage of the season. Do you, Geralt?” Lambert presses a kiss to Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt only gives an answering moan, his voice thready and weak as he falls apart under the toy. His arms shake like they’re going to give out. Jaskier whispers encouragement, grinning at the novelty of it all. Geralt tries to smile, but his eyes squeeze shut and he cries out, fists balling into the sheets. “M’close, please, Lam, don’t tease…”

“You like a good tease, though,” Lambert says, not unkindly. He won’t play with him cruelly.

This time.

“Alright, wolf, here you go. That what you want?” Jaskier isn’t sure what’s happening behind Geralt’s body, but he does know that whatever it is, it’s working exceptionally well, because the pressure in him builds hotter and higher.

“A-ah!” Jaskier cries out, when Geralt’s head -  _ no, Geralt’s second knot _ \- presses up against his prostate, firm and unrelenting, slightly grinding in Geralt’s minute shaking. It feels...gods, well Jaskier has no frame of reference. He presses a hand down over his middle and gasps, feeling the slightly bulbous knot taking shape beneath his fingers. “More, c’mon Geralt more,” he begs, lightheaded with lust.

Geralt tips over the edge, jerking wildly as he reaches his second peak, snarling viciously and shouting between his full-body shakes as his second knot fills out, just as big as the first. Jaskier’s prostate can’t take the pressure, either, his balls drawing up before he comes with a punched-out groan. He’s white-hot and  _ incandescent _ all over, the innermost part of a wick held to a flame. The fullness inside of him threatens to—

_ No,  _ it makes  _ good _ on its threat, sending him straight into a second orgasm as he squirms on Geralt’s knots. Geralt’s neck presses against his again, and they’re rocketed back through that transcendent, golden space, their hearts as wings, their Bond as a current beneath them. As it fades to an inky blue-black, Jaskier sighs and holds his alpha close, letting the darkness take them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nest gets cleaned up after 'round one', and Jaskier gives explicit consent for the group to mate-mark/bite/claim Jaskier. Lambert drops the bomb that all of the alpha Witchers can 'double knot, meaning they can pop _another_ knot, further down on the dick after the initial one if they're stimulated enough. Jaskier wants to try, and his wolves oblige.
> 
> Geralt fucks Jaskier, and at the first knot, mate-bites and Bonds with him. (To skip the bite, jump from "when a hand takes his" and jump to "Jaskier's body thrums". The bite is mentioned a little later on, but not explicitly and there are no injuries.
> 
> Lambert expresses concern at his Bonded bedmates (Jaskier, Eskel, and Geralt) and their tripped-out state. They're fine. He starts to massage at Geralt's prostate, encouraging the second knot. When the double-knot comes, so does Jaskier, and the chapter ends.


	7. Alpha's Turn (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed spoilery summary at the end. Vesemir fucks and you can't stop me.

There’s still a haze in their eyes when Vesemir begins talking. Lambert is slightly scowling at the end of the bed but that’s usually just his face. Eskel blinks a few times, takes a few deep breaths before looking up, confused at what just happened to him.

“Let me tell you all a story,” he begins. “Once upon a time…”

“Oh you dramatic bastard.”

“Quiet, Lambert.”

_ “Once _ upon a time, there were...rather an abundance of Witchers. They walked the Path together, it was very uncommon to go alone in those days. They still took contracts, were still paid in coin as you all are now, still fought the same monsters, though they were bigger back then, just a fact.”

“Bullshit,” Lambert whispers under his breath. Vesemir ignores him.

“Witchers, as you all know, are alphas, each and every one of them. It’s been that way since the beginning. Since the Trials were always done before an initiate could reach maturity, there’s no knowing what their natural designations could have been, which makes their alpha designation...somewhat artificial. And because of that, it makes mating almost out of the question, because any other a Witcher would take as a mate would know that somehow, their bond wasn’t natural.”

“But we rut, and we have knots and other alpha characteristics like the rest,” Eskel says.

“Magic is a fragile thing to understand, for as much damage as it can cause. But I’m not done with the story. There’s a...well, it started perhaps as a myth, before it fell into truth, and then into secrecy and obscurity. The tale goes that once or twice a generation, an omega is born that has the ability to Bond with Witcher alphas. The connection is...I suppose some would call them soulmates, though it’s more magic and luck than destiny. These omegas, these Bondmates, they used to live in the Witcher keeps. They could understand the emotional needs of Witchers, and provide for their physical ones if need be. The only way to actually tell if they  _ could _ Bond is if they tried it during heat. I think it became too much trouble to try and find an omega to fit the mold, who would want to try and fuck a Witcher in their heat, and the concept died out.”

“The Bonding…” Geralt swallows. “What was it supposed to be like?” He’s still knotted in Jaskier, covering his smaller form almost entirely.

“There’s no written text I have on it, none that would have survived the siege,” Vesemir shakes his head. “It’s supposed to be beyond words, something only spoken by the language of our souls.”

Eskel, Geralt, and Jaskier all nod, contemplative. Lambert rolls his eyes. “So you’re saying a special omega came up the mountain, Bonded with us during heat, and we know nothing about the extent of that psychic connection?”

Vesemir rolls his eyes right back. “We don’t know  _ nothing, _ Lambert. I’m sure we can test the extent of it all, we have all winter. I’ll make sure to tell you all if I remember anything more. Jaskier?”

“Yes, Alpha?” he says, still kind of off in his own head thinking over this new revelation.

“How are you feeling? I know this is a lot of information to absorb.” Jaskier swallows, really thinking about his answer.

“I...I don’t think I mind at all. I like you all, you all seem to like me, I wouldn’t mind being Bonded to you all. So long as it was just you. I don’t know if I could take on all the Witchers of the Continent…” he gives a nervous laugh, pulling great frowns from all four of them.

“We may be pack, but that doesn’t mean we like to share. You’re ours, omega, as we’re yours.”

“Wait, so he’s pack now?” Lambert says, a little bewildered but not unkind.

“It’s not so earth-shattering as you’d think, Lambert. We can discuss more specifics when he’s not in heat and you’re not about to rut your brains out,” Geralt says, the logical one despite still being mostly-tied inside Jaskier. His second knot has gone down, always goes down faster, but his main knot is still inflated and preventing movement. 

Lambert flushes at the words, scratching the back of his head briefly. He’s youngest of the Alphas, and tends to hit his ruts harder and earlier than the others. Many winters have been spent trying to give Lambert everything he wants.

“We haven’t even talked about what’s going to happen this evening. We’re still. You know.” Eskel makes a gesture that doesn’t quite convey  _ oh remember, when our minds go wolfy and animalistic at sundown? _ but it’s almost there.

“Jaskier can hold his own against you three. He has power in this, too, remember. He can take away any of those lovely checkmarks on the list downstairs at any time.” They all nod in agreement. “I’ll still be here to watch over you, omega. I promise.” Vesemir strokes his hand through Jaskier’s hair gently, the omega nuzzling into the touch happily.

“But what about you, Alpha? You’ll still be in rut by day’s end also. We can...I dunno, we can. Can I. Can we?” Jaskier huffs in frustration, unable to get the words out. “I wanna take care of all of you.  _ All _ of you.” Just like Eskel, his gesture doesn’t quite convey  _ Vesemir, you need to get your fucking knot in me by sundown or I’ll cry, _ but it’s almost there, and the wolves understand him.

“I don’t know about you three but I’m about to fucking knot in my hand if I don’t get in someone soon,” Lambert says, breaking the tension in the room with the only way he knows how: with a very large bomb.

“Um, but…” Jaskier looks down at where he and Geralt are still tied together. It’d be another fifteen minutes before they’d be apart, and Jaskier knows he’s starting to feel a little sore.

“Eskel? Take Lambert’s knot?” Vesemir says, looking over at the other Witcher. Eskel nods and fumbles for a large bottle of oil they’d brought up earlier with supplies. Jaskier keeps craning his neck to look, but ends up tugging on the sensitive knot inside him, making himself hiss.

“Distract me. I demand cuddling,” Jaskier pouts.

“I’m a Witcher, I don’t—”

“Geralt.” Vesemir’s tone brooks no argument.

“Fine.” Geralt is apparently more than ‘fine,’ as he curls just the perfect way around Jaskier’s body, still deep inside him, lips pressed to the bite he’d left earlier, lapping at it gently. Jaskier hums happily and wraps his arms around Geralt, kissing at his shoulders sweetly. “You’ve been distracting me all year, you know that? Always smelled so sweet for me.”

Jaskier’s breath catches. “Didn’t know if you were interested in me,” he admits softly.

“Oh, from the very start, omega. From the very first word.”

Their sweet moment is once again broken up by Lambert groaning as he pushes into Eskel’s ass, the perfunctory stretching and preparation well and done. Geralt and Jaskier look over at them, watching Eskel’s face melt into a purely satisfied expression, bent over on the bed beside them, still in the safety of the nest.

The scents of their pleasure are overwhelming. Jaskier had just gotten used to swimming in one at a time, but the sensations now leave him entirely drowning. The hot, white-lightning scent of Lambert’s desire floods together with the bloodrush of Eskel’s, and even Geralt isn’t immune to it, each breath in smelling like stardust and atmosphere. Jaskier feels effervescent, shining brighter than ever with happiness that surges from the deepest place in his soul.

“Are you alright, omega?” Alpha asks from his right. His head lolls to the side and he tries to form words, making formless noises in his efforts. “I think he’s nice and scentdrunk off of you three,” Alpha says amusedly. The happiness surges again, and he seeks out that pulse in his wrist, breathing deep the sea-salt contentment in Alpha’s scent.

“Four,” Jaskier manages to slur out. Alpha gives him a real smile then, and his blood sings with the feeling.

“Four,” Alpha agrees.

There’s a yawning emptiness inside of him when alpha’s knot has gone down enough for him to pull out. He whines at the feeling, hands going between his legs to try and keep the come inside him. His hands are pulled back up. “Shh, omega, it’s alright. Plenty more seed to come fill you up again. Give your body some rest, for now. You’ve been so good for us,” Alpha says.

Jaskier nuzzles into the wrist again, fading out past the point of understanding words anymore. His mind picks up a curious phrase, though, amidst the moaning to his left:

“Go get the tail.”

He doesn’t have time to even make a questioning noise before he’s being asked a question by Alpha. “You want something to fill you up? Feel empty?” Jaskier whines, nodding.

“Please,” he begs, nuzzling into him, finally free to roll onto his front. He feels come dripping down his legs, but he’s more focused on Alpha than anything.

“Here, I’ll fill you up. Open,” Alpha touches his jaw and he obediently follows his directions. “Good.” He almost grins at the praise, but is a good omega, and will hold this position until Alpha gives him what he wants. “There we go,” Alpha says as he feeds Jaskier his cock. He’s almost long enough to swallow down, but Alpha is only half-hard, his knot not even in the realm of inflated.

A heaviness settles over Jaskier’s senses as he lays between Alpha’s legs, breathing in his ocean-deep scent and the musk off his skin. There’s nothing but them and this bed, and the weight on his tongue pulling him deeper. He makes a high keening noise, somewhat afraid of where the depths will take him, but a steady pressure on his neck, squeezing and carding through the hair there, grounds him as he drifts.

It feels like whole lifetimes have passed in between one blink and the next. Jaskier distantly recognizes a sharp cry to his right,  _ Eskel and Lambert, _ his mind provides. He notices his leg being manipulated, unwrapped, wiped down, salved, tightly wrapped again. He knows the heat of that hand,  _ Geralt. _

But the weight,  _ oh _ that dark, heady weight, sending his senses into a molasses-thick float across his thoughts, it is like none of the others. It’s a head and shoulders above the rest, the taste of the sea’s depths. The pressure itself feels like it’s the only thing holding him together. And all the while, there’s words he doesn’t understand, a stroke of a hand through his hair, more warm words from that same deep voice. He knows, distantly, that it’s praise, the way a rhythm can denote a song. Most of all it is his Alpha, approving of him.

He’s gently brought back up to the surface, and takes a deep breath through his nose, like he’s just woken up again. Perhaps in a way, he has. “You want me to knot in your mouth, omega?”

_ Alpha. _

Jaskier can only flick his eyes up, meeting Witcher amber, and give the smallest of nods, only to be felt and not seen. Alpha is pleased with this, evident in the rumble of approval from his chest and the warmth in Jaskier’s mouth. “Go on, then. Suck.”

And Jaskier has never denied himself what he wants.

He moves his head, his muscles slightly creaking with their abrupt wakeup, but the bobbing action seems to sing at just the right vibration throughout his body. “Mmh, mmh...mmhm…” Jaskier groans. He moves his hands to Alpha’s -  _ Vesemir’s _ hips, and sucks him down, using the spit that’s gathered in his mouth while warming his cock. It makes for many wet, slurping noises, and he’s excited for the prospect of taking his knot in his mouth, the way Geralt had taken it earlier.

He remembers the glassy-eyed look Geralt had given him, Vesemir’s cock knot-deep in his mouth and not budging. The thrill and novelty of it all spurs Jaskier further, faster, his mouth going tighter and filthier as he went on. It takes almost no time for Vesemir to harden fully in his mouth, and for him to get into the action. A hand comes to rest on his ass, and Jaskier can  _ feel _ the snarling growl from Vesemir’s mouth, the hand snatching away.

Vesemir’s hand comes to intertwine with his hair, urging him up and down at his preferred pace. Jaskier loves it, giving up control and letting himself be used. It satisfies a place deep inside of him he didn’t even know existed, or rather, had been suppressed for several long years. The possession evident in that single hand on his head fills Jaskier to his toes.

He’s only peripherally aware of the fucking going on beside him. Someone else’s rut has come, and is taking their pleasure from Lambert’s ass this time. The Witcher’s almost melodic moans fill his ears like a song, the slap of wet skin against wet skin marking a tempo Jaskier wants to match. Vesemir is as invested in the other alpha’s coupling as he is Jaskier, eventually doing just that and matching the rhythm. It makes the whole thing feel like a dance, each partner daring to be so close, yet held to the rhythm of the song.

An insistent presence just beyond Jaskier’s lips begins to grow. Vesemir’s other hand comes up to grip the base of his cock, practically guiding it up the shaft as it grows. Jaskier makes a small noise in the back of his throat as the barest inch of it pushes past his lips, and he’s pulled off and back down just a scant bit further. A shushing noise from above and a soothing pet to his head gentles it past and into his mouth.

Jaskier never thought he’d be in this position, didn’t even know oral knotting was a  _ thing people did _ except in brothels and racy four-crown novels. He wants, though. He  _ wants _ as he’s never wanted before. The knot enters his mouth, still growing as he bobs his head, almost choking himself on the head of Vesemir’s cock as it brushes the back of his throat. Vesemir’s hand leaves his length and holds onto his head with both hands. “Shh, omega, just take it, let me take control.”

Jaskier moans out a wordless noise, not even a word to support it. The Witcher’s hands support his head, moving it up and down a moment before tensing. “Swallow, omega.”

A burst of hot Alpha come spreads across the back of his tongue and straight down his throat. He forces himself to relax, letting his throat remain open for the entire orgasm, though he craves the taste of Alpha across his senses more than anything. There’s nothing holding him in place but the knot and those hands, and he cannot move, tied like this. He knows his jaw is going to ache later, but for now, it’s a novel sensation and he’s loving every second, tasting the pleasure  _ he _ gave his Alpha, his mouth alone. 

He lets himself drift off into that ocean of scent once more, making happy, sated noises under his breath, around the wide stretch of Alpha’s knot. Each hum makes Alpha that much happier. He swallows what he can, and drools over the rest that hits his tongue, the shape of the knot allowing for a little bit to drip out, but not all.

The weight threatens to pull him down as it had before, but Jaskier is a little more clear-minded, enduring the knot as well as he can. He loves the full feeling, but his ass is starting to throb with emptiness and the lack of attention. He wiggles a little once the knot has gone down some, the rushing in his ears abated. Vesemir gently pushes on the pressure point of his jaw, keeping it open as he slides his knot out. Jaskier is rather proud of himself for keeping his teeth away from it this whole time, though the feeling of his teeth clacking back together shakes away the rest of his mindless floating.

He looks around, Vesemir’s cock just inches from him as he looks over at Geralt sinking down onto Eskel’s massive cock, riding him like...well, like a horse, to be honest. Eskel doesn’t look to be too in control, his fingers leaving deep marks in Geralt’s pale thighs as he rides. The eager slide of Geralt’s hips over that massive cock leaves Jaskier’s mouth watering again, but he doesn’t think he can open his mouth for another few hours.

Vesemir’s hand winds into his hair again, petting it back out of his eyes. “You did so good. You ever take an alpha knot in your mouth before?”

“No, Alpha,” Jaskier says, bashfully. “I did good?”

“So good. I hope you felt very full for awhile. I think that deserves a reward,” Vesemir arranges Jaskier’s boneless form atop the bed, moving out of a wet spot as he goes. Jaskier is put up on his knees again, the gentle flex of his injured foot not as bad as it had been before. “Comfortable?” Vesemir asks.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, his his fingers curling into the sheets by his head.

“Good, you’re doing so well for me, omega.” Jaskier makes a happy noise at the praise, the familiar tone and intention of the words making his body light up like a sunrise.

Then there’s a tongue at his ass.

Jaskier gives a half-choked shout, almost tensing around the tongue, but he remembers how good Lambert had taken care of him like this, how eager he’d been, and he relaxes with a shuddering breath. Vesemir doesn’t stop for a single moment, using both hands to spread his ass open and dig in. His lips and tongue hold no hesitation, only primal worship in every sucking kiss to his body. Gods, but he can feel Vesemir sucking the remaining come out of him, lapping it up with the same enthusiasm he’d started with.

He blushes fiercely at the first gush of slick that comes out of him, his pleasure building like a castle on the sand, as if every time his hands and mouth left him, the tide washed in a little higher. Jaskier whines and writhes beneath Vesemir’s hold, keeping him steady on his knees as he tries to buck back and forth under the onslaught of sensation against his thoroughly-used hole.

“Alpha!” Jaskier cries, his voice hoarse from the oral knotting. He isn’t released from his pleasure prison anytime soon, though. Vesemir has plans for him. His hands, once used as an efficient way of holding him open for his mouth, begin to roam around the smooth skin they lay atop of, spanning the sides of his hips with ease as they move him back and forth, a primal movement of his body back on Vesemir’s tongue.

He nearly sobs when a finger breaches him, pressing in as deep as it can. Upon finding his body comfortable and pliant, another finger joins at the next push in, spreading him open on knuckles and sheer breadth as they go. “Won’t leave you empty, omega, I promise that,” Vesemir says to the curve of his ass, a moment before nipping a bite against it.

“Please,” Jaskier says plaintively, once more. He’s at their mercy more now than he ever knew he would be when inviting the wolves into his bed.

“You want my cock again, you’re going to have to wait,” Vesemir says, crooking his fingers deliciously downward inside him, making Jaskier’s vision fill with stars. Geralt and Eskel groan to the side of him, suddenly present in the moment. “I’ll show you what it feels like to take an Alpha, you’ll know by the end.”

Jaskier only makes another petulant whine, almost sobbing from the heat building in his core from the teasing. He’d taken Vesemir’s knot in his mouth - how long ago was it now? Had it been  _ years? _ Jasker cries out when a hand slaps his ass, not the bruising strength of a Witcher, but the challenge of an Alpha against his omega. Jaskier keens and melts against the sheets, pleading for more.

The torture seems to go on  _ forever. _ His vision crosses, doubles, practically tunnels at some points, before the fingers leave his thoroughly-slicked ass and the body behind him rises up.

All at once, he’s flipped onto his back, legs splaying outward in a manner he hopes is inviting to his Alpha. That hazy heat and heavy desire weighs against his mind again, want fueling his actions. He beckons his Alpha nearer, making soft noises and pawing at his arms gently. Vesemir comes closer, covering his body with his own as he lines them up and slowly presses into him.

They groan at the sensation, aided by the slick coming from him and the growing fire between them. Jaskier cannot look away from those eyes, no matter how beautiful the noises from the others are. Vesemir brackets his head with his arms, kissing him slowly and deeply as he sinks home. Jaskier makes a noise he didn’t even know he  _ could _ make, halfway between a squeal and a groan, his pitch going all over the place.

As Vesemir moves his hips, pistoning in and out of him with steady control, always in control, Jaskier feels like he’s losing his mind. Each shred of consciousness, every last bit of sane thought, leaves through his moans and out his ears at every thrust. Vesemir is thorough and leaves no part of him untouched, his body thrumming with pleasured rhythm by the time their joining speeds up, both of them eager to reach completion.

“You gonna bite me, Alpha? Bond me?” Jaskier asks between pants, whining as Vesemir’s knot starts to fill  _ again. _ Jaskier lifts his hips a little, not even feeling any pain in his injured foot. “You wanna mate me like they already did? I wanna feel you so deep in me, Alpha, never wanna let your knot go…” Jaskier chokes out, suddenly overcome with a deep need, a desperate craving for Vesemir to fill him up.

“I’ll take care of you omega. Knot you up, mate you up, Bond you up right, just like you deserve from us.” Vesemir lowers himself onto his elbows, still driving deep inside of him. The edge of his knot catches on his rim several times before he’s pushing forward as deep as he can, forcing the knot inn to fill him up like he wants.

Jaskier shouts at the feeling, enraptured by the shuddering nerves in his body. “Yes!” he cries over and over, baring his neck as much as he can for Vesemir, for his Alpha. Vesemir takes the hint and presses in, biting at the soft flesh of his neck, just below where Geralt had bitten, his teeth sinking in just as deep and permanent as Geralt’s had, will be.

Vesemir groans as his knot fills fully and he starts to come, filling Jaskier with every last drop of him. Jaskier’s hand shoots out to the back of Vesemir’s neck for a  _ filthy _ kiss, before pulling him in, pulling their necks together for—

A copper-gold sea, rocking gently against them as they float in and out of the surface. Their hands are interlaced, their pulses beating in time under the sun. the gentle breeze against them carries them to shore atop the platinum-capped waves, spraying like diamonds against the warm sunlight. Jaskier doesn’t know how long he’s going to lay there, like that, but he knows he’s going home.

* * *

Vesemir’s knot takes fastest to go down, and he’s rolling off of Jaskier with a dazed look in his eyes none of the others have ever seen before not long after his body had gone boneless atop Jaskier’s. Someone offers him a waterskin, holding him up to drink. The wolves take care of their own.

And Vesemir never forgot that part.

Jaskier was already pouting in his light doze. When Vesemir holds out his hand to Geralt, the tail plug is pushed into his palm a half-moment later, soft and well-cared for after all these years of using it.

“We’ll keep you full, omega, don’t you worry.”

“Alpha…” Jaskier whined, the end of his inflection going up, up, when the plug pushes into his just-about-leaking hole. He’d taken a lot of alpha come that day, and needed his comfortable rest while they all recovered, prepared for the next day. “Thank you…” Jaskier whispers before falling asleep.

“Of course,” Vesemir whispers back, gently moving him to the center of the nest where he’d be most comfortable, safest, most loved by his alphas. “You’re pack, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vesemir explains some plot-important stuff at the beginning. Essentially it boils down to "a very special kind of omega can mate with a Witcher" and Jaskier is obviously one of those. Eskel and Lambert start to fuck. Jaskier cockwarms Vesemir with his mouth until he knots in his mouth, and has his ass worshiped by Vesemir after the knot goes down. Vesemir then fucks Jaskier into oblivion, mate-bites, Bonds with him, and plugs his ass up with a tail plug a la [Share and Share Alike](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651296/chapters/56769409). Vesemir declares Jaskier part of the pack.


	8. Sound Asleep (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery warnings at the end. Overall: negotiated somnophilia, sounding.

Jaskier’s dreams are of swirling rivers under a lazy summer sun, clouds drifting in and out before it. Everything from his waist down is submerged in the river, but it’s cool and refreshing and...incredibly large? He shifts on the large rock he’s sitting on, trying to get comfortable. The river instead moves him back into place, right where a huge protrusion in the rock is poking him. He shifts again, but the protrusion seems to grow, demanding he sit on it. He makes a little half-caught noise in the back of his throat when it presses into his slick hole, driving deep and just right. It’s huge, fucking into him with a steady, natural pace.

Jaskier grasps at the bank a little, his legs kicking out into the water as the river flows and twists, the rock moving with it. He’s bent down over the side of the bank, pressed into the soft grass there. The movements of the cock deep in his ass speed up, the river splashing up over his waist and—

He wakes just as Eskel’s knot pops past his rim.

With a wordless cry, he comes all over himself in the next second, drenching the sheets beneath him as he’s filled with alpha seed and pure sensation. He shakes and squirms, making happy noises as Eskel covers his body with his own. Jaskier rolls his head to the side, beckoning him closer, to take, to claim. It’s a heavenly feeling, when Eskel bites him, marking him as his own. Jaskier cries out again and arches back into him, forcing the massive knot even deeper. “Eskel, alpha, alpha, yes…” Jaskier pants needily, the heat that had been building steadily in his sleep finally dissipating.

Eskel’s hips stutter to a comfortable stop a few minutes later, melting against Jaskier’s back and lapping at the bleeding bite high on his neck. Jaskier should have known he’d be possessive. He wouldn’t be able to hide that mark even if he wanted to. Jaskier hums happily and wriggles back against him, letting him roll them both to the side. He's so satisfied by his morning. _Gods, I'm so glad I checked that item on the list._ He is shown a fairly interesting scene when he blinks the final traces out of his eyes.

Vesemir is standing over a shivering, shaking Geralt, with one hand wrapped around his cock and the other holding a curious device -  _ inserting _ it into Geralt’s prick. Jaskier’s jaw drops open. He never knew that was even possible, to be penetrated there.

“It’s painful to pop a knot outside of a warm, happy hole, but Vesemir found out about this in Vizima about two hundred years ago,” Eskel whispers into his ear, explaining the scene. “So long as the sound’s in, the pressure from the knot dissipates, and once the knot goes down, take it out and come like normal. Watch how it slides in the rest of the way on its own, Geralt’s cock knows what it wants…”

Sure enough, Vesemir lets go of the sound, and Jaskier is transfixed, watching it slide down, down, down, til the flared end stops it from sinking too far in. Geralt lets out a deep, guttural moan, his whole body lightly trembling. His fists flex open and shut, making the veins in his arms bulge in a way Jaskier’s seen them do on the hunts he’s followed Geralt on. Jaskier swallows roughly, his mouth suddenly dry. Geralt’s eyes open, but they don’t focus on anything, lolling about in his head. Vesemir’s hand doesn’t stop stroking Geralt’s cock, working it through the knot gradually. Geralt makes the sweetest, most beautiful noises under his hands.

“It feels like nothing you can ever imagine,” Eskel whispers. “You like how he looks like that?” Jaskier nods, long past words. “Well, you’ll see what we all look like with our sounds in before our ruts are over.” He presses a kiss to Jaskier’s bite again, and Jaskier tugs on his knot, a tease to the end.

“And what if I wanted one in me too?” Jaskier says, his voice still half-sleepy, half-wrecked.

He’s met with three identical growls in stereo, all around him. Eskel’s hand curls around his hip. “Anything you want, omega,” Eskel promises darkly against the nape of his neck.

Geralt stays like that, completely checked out, for much less time than it took for his knot to go down in Jaskier. With Witcher stamina, they must satisfy dozens of knots like this in a single rut. When Geralt takes a few blinks and swallows, looking around with more clarity, Vesemir takes hold of his sounded cock again and firmly extracts the sound.

The effects are instantaneous, Geralt’s whole body bowing off of the mattress as he comes. His spend lands mostly on himself, but Jaskier feels his mouth water. He wants the rest in his mouth more than anything else. He’s about to move forward and  _ take, _ but Eskel’s hand on his him stops him. That would have been a bad move.

“You want to clean up Geralt, omega?” Vesemir says, seemingly unaffected by the whole act. Jaskier nods and Vesemir swipes his fingers through the mess on Geralt’s chest and belly. He offers the fingers to Jaskier, who sucks them in greedily, sucking up as much come as possible. “Fuck, you’ve got a dirty mouth,” Vesemir chuckles.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Jaskier smiles when he’s finished, laying happily against the pillow with Eskel, who cuddles up instantly, snuffling at his hair like he’s been gone twenty years instead of twenty seconds.

They lay happily in their glow, settling in to wait for Eskel’s knot to go down. “Scent me?” Jaskier asks shyly. “Please?”

“Of course,” Eskel says, all too happy to comply. His right hand comes up to press his wrist against Jaskier’s neck, right over Eskel and Geralt’s marks. Jaskier makes a happy noise, sinking into that happy river again that must mean  _ Eskel. _ It isn’t as hard-rushing as before, but it runs deep, Jaskier knows. Jaskier feels floaty, the way paper dances above a flame before it’s consumed.

He’s still in that haze when Eskel’s knot deflates enough for him to pull out, but he isn’t empty long, the plug going back in him with ease. The softness of the tail attached to the end tickles at Jaskier’s senses, and has him grinning and giggling. He’s instantly covered in four happy alphas, snuffling and scenting at his happiness, nuzzling into every crook of his body they can get.

It’s perfect.

* * *

When Jaskier wakes again, the plug is still firmly up his ass, but there’s a different need stirring in his belly.

He’s hungry.

He’s aware of this fact a whole second before his stomach makes the loudest fucking noise it’s ever made. Jaskier’s about to hide in the sheets, embarrassed, when a hand pushes in front of his face, holding a small hunk of cheese. Jaskier follows the hand to a wrist, to an elbow, to silver-white hair cascading over a shoulder. “Geralt,” Jaskier breathes happily, smiling up at him.

“You should eat,” Geralt says, matching the softness of the moment in his eyes. Jaskier, not looking away, eats from Geralt’s hand, pressing a tiny kiss to his fingers.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, wriggling up closer to him and his plate of cold lunch foods.

“How are you feeling?” Geralt asks. The rest of them are missing from their nest, but he knows they’ll return when his next wave of heat hits him.

“I’m good, I...I think I like the plug, if I’m being honest.” Jaskier takes another piece of food, a slice of apple.

“Good,” Geralt says with the barest smile. “They like seeing it in you. I like seeing you marked by us.” Jaskier blushes a little, accepting the smallest bite of bread from Geralt’s hand once more, the Witcher’s thumb brushing away the crumbs it leaves.

“Well, I’m yours, I’m sure you all like knowing that as much as I do,” Jaskier reclines, accepting more food as Geralt lavishes attention on him. “Where’d the others go?” he asks after awhile.

Geralt’s face goes kind of tight, and Jaskier’s worried he’s overstepped. “They’re not far, promise. Lambert, he...his ruts are a little different than ours. He was afraid you’d react badly to the truth.”

“The truth?” Jaskier asks, fearing the worst. He knows he’d do anything for Lambert even now, though they haven’t Bonded or made mating marks together.

“Do you remember when Vesemir told you about boys being turned into alphas during the Trials, before they presented as anything else?” Jaskier nods. “There was one exception to that, because of course Lambert had to be the exception.” Geralt takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes, visibly steeling himself. “Lambert came to Kaer Morhen slightly older than the other initiates. By the time his training ended and the Trials began, the stress of it all had cause him to have his first heat.”

Jaskier gapes openly at Geralt. “He’s—”

“An alpha like the rest of the Witchers. There’s just a few things that are different about him compared to the rest of us. He’s...well, he’s in a nest, of sorts. He gets like this the first few days of his—”

“Bring him back in here!” Jaskier demands suddenly. Geralt is flabbergasted. “This nest is big enough for all of us, and he needs all of us. I want him here. If he wants me,” Jaskier adds the last part in a softer voice, insecurity floating through him. “I just...I don’t want to deprive him of anyone just because I’m here.” Jaskier stares defiantly at his wrapped ankle, wiggling his toes a little.

“I’ll...I’ll be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wakes from a dream to Eskel knotting inside of him. This is a pre-negotiated kink, and clearly part of the checklist Jaskier went through before his heat. Eskel mate-bites him, and they see Geralt taking a sound from Vesemir, for very flimsy plot purposes. Jaskier gets to clean up Geralt's come. After a scent-nap, Geralt handfeeds Jaskier and explains Lambert actually fully presented as an omega before the Trials, which has affected how his ruts happen at Kaer Morhen.


	9. Ménage à Cinq (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, full spoilery warnings at the end. Overall warnings: Vesemir fucks and you can't stop me, I've accidentally on purpose written another sounding scene, DP, brief mention of trope-typical sexism

As Geralt walks out the door to pass the word to the others, Jaskier wonders for a panicked few minutes of perhaps he should have asked if  _ Lambert _ even wants to spend his mating cycle with  _ him. _ He hadn’t been any more or less withdrawn while they’d fucked the first time, so something must have changed in the hours between Lambert’s rut starting and Jaskier waking up on Eskel’s knot. Come to think of it, Lambert may have already been gone…

His overthinking is interrupted by all four alphas returning to the room. Eskel rushes over to the nest, kissing and lightly scenting him, clearly having missed him in their time away. Vesemir pushes a hand through his hair and squeezes over the back of his neck. “How do the bites feel?”

Jaskier melts into the attention for a moment. “Low throbbing. Nothing too terrible, I promise.” He smiles up at his Alpha, toes curling happily when he gets a soft smile in return.

“You shouldn’t try and move your foot, Jaskier, doesn’t that hurt?” Geralt huffs, adopting the same tone as when Jaskier did something stupid while accompanying him on hunts.

“It...actually it doesn’t,” Jaskier says honestly. He can practically feel the curious stares on him then. He tries to wiggle his foot again, gently rotating at the ankle. “It’s a little sore, but…”

“You sure you cooked up the right numbing cream?” Eskel frowns at Geralt.

_ “Yes, _ I’m sure,” Geralt grumbles. Deft hands pluck the bandages and splints away from Jaskier’s foot, revealing…

Skin that had once been a deep purple-blue bruise, now a pale yellow of a nearly-healed bruise. Jaskier gawks at his foot. “That’s...not what it should look like, is it?”

“No,” four voices answer. Lambert crawls into the nest alongside him, looking exhausted and sleep-deprived.  _ He’s been fighting his cycle, _ a part of Jaskier realizes. They lock eyes for a moment before Lambert closes his with a tired sigh.

“Move it this way.”

“Wiggle your toes.”

“Flex, point. Again.”

“Will you stop?!” Jaskier snaps, frowning at the alphas. “You can’t just use your alpha commands anytime you want. A little courtesy is appreciated.” Jaskier scowls and crosses his arms.

Eskel and Geralt look thoroughly chastised; Vesemir, to an extent, is as well. Lambert just hides his smug grin in Jaskier’s side. “We apologize, omega. We just...you shouldn’t be healing this fast, is all.”

“Quit worrying. The heat probably did it,” Lambert says from Jaskier’s ribs, confusing everyone else.

“What?” Jaskier asks. Lambert pokes his head out.

“Your body generally doesn’t want you feeling terrible during heats. You release a bunch of healing chemicals when you go through the cycle, flushes out toxins in your sweat and come. S’why you’re so tired. Your body is trying to heal so you don’t focus on your injury and instead focus on making little Jaskiers. There’s heat therapy in some of the more progressive towns for omegas with chronic illnesses.”

The group is stunned by the revelation. “Sometimes your sexual knowledge scares me, Lambert,” Eskel says.

Lambert only shrugs. “Figured with how my cycles usually go, needed to know more about them than any of the books we have can tell us. Y’all are just little balls of energy the whole time. I’m just horny and exhausted.” He punctuates his statement by somehow flopping down even more on the bed.

“We’ll take care of you, Lambert. All of us,” Jaskier says softly, stroking his fingers through his hair, a thumb tracing his eyebrow.

“Thanks,” Lambert mumbles into his skin. “For not. You know.”

“Freaking out?” Jaskier tries. Lambert huffs, but nods. “Of course not. I told you I want you here, I want to fuck you all and help you through your cycles as much as you’ll help with mine.”

“A romantic  _ slutty _ virgin, you really know how to pick ‘em, Geralt,” Eskel teases, nudging his brother goodnaturedly. It breaks the tension in the nest, and they all settle in just to relax, resting whenever they could before another wave of  _ need _ overtakes them.

When it does come, it hits Jaskier first. The heat unfurls like a flower in his gut, the fastest spring-to-summer he’s ever experienced. Jaskier doubles over, his ankle still unwrapped, and he’s flipped onto his front.

“There we go, omega, we’ll get you full soon,” Alpha says. Jaskier moans at the promise, coming up onto his knees. The plug is pulled from him with a wet noise, the squelch of come and slick mixing together deliciously. He arches his back, settling down and offering himself to his Alpha in a way he hopes is alluring.

He gets four alpha growls in return, but only one cock fills him up, thick and throbbing inside him. Alpha wastes no time in getting his omega panting, whining and craving more, more, knot, please.

The hand at his lower back roams upward, keeping his shoulders pressed into the bed as he’s bred up good and full. Jaskier bites out a happy noise, wriggling back against his Alpha, rocking and begging for more. The hands move to his hips, now driving into him with singleminded intent: to knot, to tie.

When the knot swells up at the base, Jaskier’s breath catches. How many knots will he have to take before he doesn’t get fucking  _ flustered _ about the intimacy, the closeness, the Bond they share? He begs his Alpha for more, and feels his rim catch and stretch on the growing thickness as Alpha thrusts in and out. He groans low in his throat, grasping and biting at the pillow. He  _ wants, _ badly.

The knot finally swells to its full thickness, tying him together with his Alpha. He lets out a sharp, long keen, his orgasm overtaking him and shaking him like leaves in a windstorm. The spreading warmth from the base of his spine tells him Alpha has also come, filled him up nice and deep. It sates a deep-seated urge that clears his head of the head-induced haze, for a few moments.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jaskier breathes, begs, insists. He offers his neck, that bite mark Alpha left waiting for his mouth again. Alpha presses his lips to it, gentle despite the hurried, rushed knotting. He doesn’t want to hurt him again, not so soon.

The juxtaposition of the two sensations brings him back to reality just a little, seeing Lambert viciously riding Geralt, a high note to his whining and groaning. Jaskier reaches a hand out and takes hold of Lambert’s ankle, squeezing sweetly around the delicate bones and—

Oh, he makes Lambert come from just that. The shock sends Geralt’s knot surging up into his waiting body, locking them deep together. The ferality of their mating is matched by the vicious marks they leave on one another. Jaskier almost wants to look away, the intimacy just a little much for him and the innocence he still had a few shreds of left. He chokes on a moan instead, keeping his eyes on them, on the stretched rim of Lambert’s hole, the flex of Geralt’s cock as he pours him full of come. Lambert’s thighs are shiny with—is that slick? The reminder of Lambert’s other designation sends a flash flood of heat through his body. He wants to  _ taste. _

He still hasn’t let go of Lambert’s ankle, surprisingly delicate under his hands, the skin pale and soft. He sees Geralt gather Lambert up against his chest, holding him as comfortably as possible with his knot up his ass. Jaskier’s mouth waters.

It’s a beautiful dazzling haze for those minutes, Vesemir’s knot inflated right against his prostate and occasionally sending shockwaves of pleasure up his body and back down again, like a toy boat twirling to and fro along a stream of consciousness. He makes a little pouty noise of protest when Vesemir pulls out, but the plug is there in the next moment, leaving him full, but mobile. A plump omega, waddling about with evidence of their Alpha’s lust.

His face flushes red with the thought of him being nothing more than a vessel for these four sexed-out alphas to dump their come into, filling him up whenever they want, and twice when he asks nicely. The pressure in his belly feels divine, just sinful enough of a stretch that he has to reach down and touch the protrusion himself. It’s soft and gentle, the roundness of his body satisfying that animal urge again.

“You like that, Jaskier?” Eskel says from his other side. What a beautiful sight he is, his dick stuffed with a sound much thicker than the one Geralt used before. “You like being bred up in your heat by Witcher come?”

“Yes, alpha,” Jaskier breathes, a little shakily.

“Let me guess, you want to get bred up like a bitch in your heat, get pumped full of our come so you can carry our pups, not even sure which one of us won in the gene pool.” The laugh he ends on sends another delicious, thrilling flush of humiliation through his nerve endings.

Well, if he wasn’t thinking about that before, he certainly is  _ now. _

“I want all of you, whatever you’ll give me,” Jaskier says, a rasp to his voice he notices makes Eskel’s eyes grow darker. He fists at his sounded, full cock, massaging down his knot. “It’s my place, but it’s up to you to keep me there.”

“Damn, kid,” Lambert wheezes, caught off guard by Jaskier’s frankness in bed. Only a few hours ago, he was a writhing knot-virgin, and now he’s teasing a bed of wolves with where his  _ place _ is. “I wanna keep him,” Lambert grins, full and bright for the first time Jaskier’s seen. Surely his mating cycle, the hormones, and pheromones rushing through him must be the cause.

“I’m glad I’m so amusing. You should hear the ‘training’ they give omegas in noble families.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and gently shifts so he’s mostly on his back, but not so that the near-bursting amount of come inside him is uncomfortable.

“What’s that?” Vesemir says, leaning back and observing them all.

“Oh you don’t  _ know?” _ Jaskier says cheekily, a smirk coming across his face. “Well, maybe alphas don’t know...It’s ingrained in us from a very young age that our heats don’t belong to us, they belong to the  _ alpha _ using us.” He says  _ alpha _ with the kind of breathless awe fabled princesses speak about their valiant knightly loves. “They say if we’re not sitting on a knot, we’re sitting on borrowed time, we’re  _ made _ to be bred and reproduce til our bodies give out, popping out babies with every heat and getting pregnant, full and—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt admonishes, interrupting him. “And Eskel, quit trying to scare him. It’d take a miracle for us to knock him up.”

“Yeah, I know. If I actually believed any of that omega-is-lesser codswallop I wouldn’t be  _ here. _ Following a lovely, stinky alpha Witcher all over the Continent and stalking him terribly well up a mountain.”

“You can say  _ terribly _ again,” Geralt mutters, closing his eyes. Jaskier flicks him with the end of the tail stick in his ass.

“There were plenty I knew that bought into that, though. Made me sad.  _ Makes _ me sad.” Jaskier frowns. “I’m not going to lie, I do kind of wish I had expectations of myself at a time like this, though. Makes things a bit clearer about what I should do when I’ve got a knot in my ass.”

“If your mind is clear when we’re knotted inside you, we’re the ones doing something wrong, not you.” The whole nest laughs, their pleased and contented scents mingling. “You want that sound outta you, Eskel?” Lambert asks, folding his arms atop Geralt’s chest and resting his head on them.

Eskel flushes with the attention he gets quite suddenly, four sets of eyes going to his red, throbbing dick. “I...yeah, the knot’s down, I just—”

“Can I do it?” Jaskier blurts, surprising all of them. He’s instantly embarrassed by his natural curiosity, but the concept just intrigues him endlessly. He also wants to  _ touch _ an alpha cock, and not only have it in his ass or his mouth.

“Let me show you,” Vesemir says, walking forward on his knees. Eskel makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when Vesemir holds his cock up by the base. “Hold him like this, here, come on.”

“Okay,” Jaskier says, mesmerized. He replaces Vesemir’s hand with his own and marvels at the hot feeling,  _ silk over steel, _ that’s what all the three-crown romances said. Jaskier lets his other hand roam a little, gently exploring Eskel’s sac, his nearly-gone knot, the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his dick. Eskel writhes under him, and Vesemir watches, entertaining Jaskier’s novel experience. “Now what?” Jaskier asks, sitting back a little and driving the plug up just a little deeper inside of him. He licks his lips.

“Eskel is very sensitive from the sound, even though he has to take a bigger one. Keep him pointed up, put one hand on the base—just like that, good. And the other, pinch just below the head of the sound—of the  _ sound.” _

“Sorry!” Jaskier said, quickly moving his hand up to the instrument and away from the head of Eskel’s cock. “Sorry.”

“You’re alright, Jas, promise,” Eskel pants, putting a soothing hand on his thigh.

“Alright, you can slide it out a little, just so you can get a finger’s grip around it. Like this.” Vesemir demonstrates, pulling a low, long moan from Eskel’s chest. The noise vibrates with heady alpha voice, though there’s no command or praise behind it. He’s mistaken - there’s  _ plenty _ of praise behind it. Biting his lip against the onslaught of submissive urges, Jaskier replaces Vesemir’s finger again. “Go very slow for Eskel, he likes when it comes out slow. Whatever you do, don’t try to put it back in.”

Jaskier nods, giving an excited nod, but with a serious and focused expression on his face. He does as Vesemir says, sliding the sound out at an almost-glacial pace. Eskel tenses up all over, but luckily doesn’t buck up into his hands. The sound slides easily out, almost no resistance against Jaskier’s fingers. He wraps his hand around it as more is available, and he gasps when it’s all the way out, nearly as long as Eskel’s entire dick and more than twice as thick as the one Geralt had used before.

“Perfect, now watch him come apart, omega, this is for you.”

Eskel gasps in a high, wheezing breath, a still moment before his cock pulses and twitches in Jaskier’s other hand, shooting his load up into the air with spectacular velocity, just like Geralt’s had. Jaskier grins at Eskel, pride humming strongly through his scent. The other alphas groan at the feeling, watching Eskel come and shake apart, and Jaskier’s overwhelming omega confidence and assurance. Vesemir takes the used sound from Jaskier, still cock-warm, and places it to the side. Eskel’s chest heaves as he comes back to himself, using his hand on Jaskier’s leg to pull him closer. His thighs shake minutely through the aftershocks.

He buries his face in Jaskier’s neck once he’s able to, breathing him in deeply and pressing little kisses and sucking bites against the already-marked up skin. Eskel can taste who the other bites belong to, by the nature of the Bonds.

Lambert rolls off of Geralt’s knot and curls around Jaskier’s back, cuddling but would kill you if you called it that. They all settle in after a bit of cleanup, napping lightly.

Or at least, Jaskier  _ would _ be napping if Vesemir wasn’t annoyingly prodding at his ankle. “Alpha,” Jaskier growls. “It’s nap time.” Vesemir stiffens visibly and lets go.

“Yes, omega, I’m sorry.”

Jaskier is back asleep in seconds, but the bewildered stares the other alphas share continue for a few highly-confused minutes before they settle in.

Sleep is inevitably interrupted by the return of Jaskier’s heat, only this time, Lambert’s own cycle pangs simultaneously. They both groan and hold one another, gently rocking their cocks together, kissing lazily. “I wanna Bond you too,” Jaskier whimpers.

“But...what if I’m not—”

“You will,” Jaskier says, in that same growly tone that brooks no argument. Lambert is quailed instantly. “Will you Bond with me and mate me, alpha?”

“Yes,” Lambert says gently, kissing him again. “Do you wanna try something fun before we get to all those romantic feelings, though?” The wicked gleam in his eyes guides Jaskier to nod eagerly, his hair flopping down in front of his eyes.

“Of course.”

That’s how Jaskier ends up perched on Lambert’s body, with his  _ and _ Geralt’s cocks deep in his ass. Depending on how he likes it, Lambert had said, maybe we’ll get up to knotting him up with  _ two. _ Jaskier quite likes the sound of that, but he can’t think past formless syllables being torn from his mouth.

He’s  _ full, _ despite all of the come having dripped out of him and onto the bed while they were prepping him for this. The nest is filled with hot, humid air, and smells like slick and alpha  _ want. _ Jaskier can only hang on for dear life, Geralt and Lambert’s cocks taking turns driving deeper and deeper into him than he thought he could ever take. He wishes they could have  _ started _ with this, because not only was this feeding the greedy lust in his belly, this was blanking out every thought in his head like wood ash and lye.

Truth be told, maybe all those winters of just using one another’s bodies spawned great ideas, and Jaskier wouldn’t change a thing. Jaskier’s hazy eyes alight on Lambert’s, who looks like he’s being held together by a single thread of control, and even that’s unraveling before his very eyes.

“Want you,” Jaskier moans, his voice hitching up as  _ one _ of their cocks drags brutally across his prostate. Lambert traces his thumb over an unmarked section of his chest. Lambert can feel his human heart pounding, a sure and steady tempo that grounds him. He loves the fluttering of it under his fingertips.

“Can I bite you here?” Lambert asks. Jaskier nods. Lambert could have asked to bite him on the tip of his nose and he would have gladly let him.

“Please. Wanna feel you, alpha,” Jaskier begs.

“Shh, shh, we’ll take care of y— _ oh, _ oh gonna—Geralt—” Lambert panics a little when he feels his release coming, but Geralt pulls out at the warning, Eskel taking care of him to the side as Lambert and Jaskier ride out the end together.

His knot presses up against his sensitive inner walls with incredible precision, holding him close in the way their bodies know best. Jaskier cries out at the first splash of Lambert’s hot come inside of him, imagining his insides must be entirely white by now. Lambert pulls him down, pressing one wet kiss over his heart before sinking his teeth in and marking him permanently.

Jaskier groans, the feeling searing through his bones like he’s been catapulted into an electrical storm. He cries Lambert’s name as the edge of pain tips him over, coming into his hand and a little onto Lambert’s stomach. Jaskier pants and smears his spend there, whining when Lambert unlatches from his chest. The bright red, slightly bleeding mark looks like a rouged kiss, and Jaskier loves it immediately. It’s the only one he can see without using a looking glass.

Lambert, sleepy-limbed and sated, locked into Jaskier’s body, pulls him forward again, chests together, neck to neck.

Their Bond rolls in like a powerful thundercloud over a clear summer sky, though their dream-land is still awash in gold, bursting from the yellow lightning crashing from the sky. Jaskier clings harder to Lambert, the sunlight somehow feeling its own warmth from the reflection off the stormclouds. It’s magical, and full of love and affection, and everything Jaskier needs.

When the rain and lightning leaves, a shimmering, sparkling rainbow is left in its wake, a thank you and a gift for the last pair of Bondmates in Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the alphas come back in, they realize Jaskier's ankle is healing as a result of his body in heat repairing at a faster rate. Jaskier uses some kind of command on the other alphas. Lambert's in-depth sex knowledge coming in clutch. Speaking of coming in clutches, Jaskier's heat hits again and Vesemir fucks him through it, dumping his come in him and plugging him up nice and full. Lambert takes Geralt's knot as his own cycle starts to insist he gets fucked. Jaskier sees that Lambert's producing slick how he does as well. Jaskier mentions a bit of anti-omega discourse that's pretty common in most noble families. It's essentially sexism. Eskel, meanwhile, has got a huge sound down his dick and Jaskier asks to help in the removal process. Jaskier gets him to come, and they all snuggle. Jaskier uses his weird omega command again when Vesemir pokes at his ankle again, and they nap. When they wake, Lambert agrees to Bond with Jaskier and they fuuuuck. Jaskier gets DP'd by Geralt and Lambert, but only Lambert knots him. (Sorry, I flipped a coin) Lambert leaves his mating bite over Jaskier's heart and they Bond, and it's wonderful <3

**Author's Note:**

> LOLLLLLL come yell at me on [tumblr](https://kaermorons.tumblr.com/)


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